Change
by EsmeAmelia
Summary: COMPLETE. Sequel to Without a Heart, this story focuses on Han and the others adjusting to how their lives have changed.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I still don't own Star Wars. Well, here's a sequel of sorts to my story "Without a Heart." Best to read that story first or else this one will leave you pretty confused. Anyway, this probably won't be very long and instead of a big plot, it will focus on Han and the other characters adjusting to the changes in their lives from the previous fic.

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 1

"Are you ready?" asked Doctor Graynar, Han's physical therapist.

"Come on, you old pirate, you can do it!" called Lando.

Han rolled his eyes. He hadn't exactly planned on taking his first steps with an artificial foot in front an audience – he had only expected Leia, Chewie, Luke, and maybe Rey to be there, but Rey told Finn and Finn told Poe and Poe told BB-8 and BB-8 told R2 and R2 told 3PO and _someone_ told Lando. Why Lando wanted to see this, he had no idea.

"Well," he said, turning to the doctor, "all those knee-bends and leg-lifts you made me do had better be worth something, so let's do this."

Doctor Graynar stood on his left and Leia stood on his right, both ready to hoist him up. For maybe the five hundredth time, he wished he could take a deep breath and wondered how long it would be before he _stopped_ missing the ability to breathe. After _imagining_ the feeling of taking a deep breath, he wrapped one arm around the doctor and the other around Leia.

"Good," said Doctor Graynar, firmly gripping his artificial hand and pressing it against her shoulder. "Let us know when you're ready."

The toes on Han's real foot curled. "Okay . . . I'm ready."

Bit by bit, Leia and Doctor Graynar eased Han to a standing position, which sent a wave of dizziness through his head.

"It's all right, Han," Leia whispered. "We've got you."

Han bit his lip. Learning to walk again in his sixties sure wasn't something he had imagined happening in his old age – but then again, he hadn't imagined that he would spend his old age with his hand, foot, and heart missing either. He _certainly_ hadn't imagined that a lightsaber through the heart would make him dependent on a machine embedded in his chest to do his breathing for him.

The machine's weight already wanted to pull him down and the artificial foot . . . the artificial foot felt like it wasn't actually part of him. His ankle stump felt like it was precariously resting on something foreign to his body.

"Good job," Doctor Graynar was saying in that silky voice she probably used with all her patients. "Nice and easy, nice and easy."

"Yeah!" Poe called as BB-8 merrily beeped in agreement.

Leia squeezed her husband's real hand. "Are you ready for your first step?"

Han swallowed several times, feeling everyone's stares, his stomach in a knot. Again the device in his chest seemed to want to pull him down.

"Come on, Han!" shouted Finn.

Han concentrated on his wife's touch, again wishing he could take a deep breath. All he had to do was lift a foot and take a step, something he'd been doing his entire life. One foot being artificial now shouldn't make _too_ much difference . . . right?

"It's all right, Han," Doctor Graynar was saying, "take as much time as you need."

Which foot to use first? Lifting his real foot meant putting his weight on the artificial one, which still felt like it wanted to slide out from under him. However, lifting his artificial foot meant _lifting_ it and he wasn't sure if his leg was strong enough to lift that heavier weight.

He finally decided to start with his real foot. Grinding his teeth, he carefully, carefully, carefully lifted it up, which immediately caused his artificial foot to wobble.

"Good job," said Doctor Granyar, tightening her grip on him as he quickly put his real foot down. "Good job. Think you're up for another one?"

Han swallowed. The artificial foot wanted to tilt from side to side under his stump. Was his leg strong enough to lift it?

"Oh my," 3PO was saying. "General Solo, should you experience discomfort, perhaps it is best if you return to bed for the moment."

Chewie roared at 3PO to shut up.

"Come on, Han!" Lando repeated. "Show 'em what you got!"

Han gritted his teeth. Lift the foot. Lift it. He focused on the spot where his flesh ended and the cyber foot began, the stump where the cybernetics dug into his innards. Lift the foot.

Finally, with his knee straining, his muscles working to the point of pain, he raised the foot.

"WOO!" shouted Lando. He began slow clapping. "Han, Han, Han, Han . . ."

In another second the whole audience had joined in, slow clapping and chanting his name as the foot came stomping down, making the floor vibrate under it.

"Han, Han, Han, Han . . ."

"Great work," said Doctor Granyar. "Do you think you have another one in you?"

The foot that wasn't his still wanted to slide out from under him, but he gritted his teeth again and inched his real foot off the floor.

"Han, Han, Han, Han . . ."

The last time he stood, it was on the bridge in Starkiller Base . . .

"Han, Han, Han, Han . . ."

" _I'm being torn apart. I know what I must do, but I don't know if I have the strength . . ."_

As the real foot came down, the artificial one wobbled again.

"Han, Han, Han, Han . . ."

" _Can you help me?"_

Now _both_ feet were wobbling.

"Han, Han, Han, Han . . ."

" _Thank you . . ."_

With that, both the feet slid out from under him, leaving him dangling from the two women's shoulders.

"Han?" Leia exclaimed. "Han, are you all right?"

His arms were shaking, his legs were shaking, _everything_ was shaking. The _sound_ of his mechanical breath blared in his ears, in, out, in, out, and there was Ben thrusting the lightsaber through him, the red light, the _red light_ . . .

There were voices in the distance . . . somewhere . . . somewhere beyond the _sound,_ that breath, that _awful_ breath, the breath he would listen to _forever . . ._

"Ben . . ." he whispered, seeing his son's face in his blinks while the rest of the world was a blur. "Ben . . ."

Something lifted him up and laid him down, the voices still came from somewhere . . . if only that _sound_ didn't get in the way . . .

"Ben . . ."

Certain words made their way through the jumble of voices – "wrong" . . . "stress" . . . "sedate" . . .

"Ben . . ." It was the only word his lips could form, the only clear image he could form . . .

"Han," said one voice out of the torrent – Doctor Granyar's? He wasn't sure. "Han, can you hear me?"

The red light piercing his chest, his son's face . . . "Ben!"

"All right, Han," the voice continued, "you're going to feel a tiny stick now and then you're going to take a little nap. You'll feel better when you wake up, okay?"

"Ben!"

The prick came into his still-shaking arm and almost immediately his eyelids started drooping, but that only made his son's face sharper, the eyes always staring directly at him, alternately pleading and glaring.

"Ben . . . Ben . . . Ben . . ."

. . .

Han didn't know how long he'd been sleeping, but he knew he didn't want to wake up. Consciousness meant acknowledging the jabbing ache in his head, the soreness in his legs, that damn _sound_ . . .

"Feeling better, Han?"

His crusty, sticky eyelids peeled open and he found himself looking up at Doctor Graynar's face from his hospital bed. The sky was dimming outside and the overly-bright hospital light gave a sheen to the doctor's red hair.

"What happened?" he asked in a slow voice. "Where'd everyone go?"

Doctor Graynar gave one of her "doctor smiles," the smiles she seemed to use when she wasn't sure how to explain things. "Visiting hours are over – but of course we'll make an exception if your wife comes by as always. I suspect she'll rush over here as soon as she finishes her dinner down in the cafeteria." Her smile twisted to one side. "As for what happened . . . well, you kind of had a nervous breakdown and I had to sedate you."

"Nervous breakdown?"

The doctor nodded. "Don't be ashamed – it's to be expected from someone who's been through what you've been through. In fact, I was expecting the post-traumatic stress to show up much sooner."

"Post . . . traumatic . . . stress?" With every word it felt like a rock was settling in Han's stomach.

There was the "doctor smile" again. "Don't worry, episodes like yours are common for people who have been through extreme trauma."

"Episodes?" Han exclaimed. "So you're tellin' me that's gonna happen _again?"_

Finally the "doctor smile" faded. "It's very likely. In fact, they might very well get worse, but fortunately we have excellent counselors here who can help you."

"Counseling? Look, Leia and me went through counseling after we lost Ben and it did _crap!"_

Doctor Graynar sighed and shook her head. "It's your choice, of course, but I would highly recommend counseling after what happened today."

Han licked his dry lips, gazing past the doctor to the rapidly darkening sky. "I take it, that sleepin' drug lasted a while?"

"Not _too_ long," said Doctor Graynar. "It's not too late for dinner – would you like me to get the menu?"

Han wanted to sigh, but once again he remembered that he couldn't. How the _hell_ long would it be before he stopped missing his old breath?

"Fine," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing!

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 2

"Leia!" Doctor Granyar exclaimed at the door to Han's hospital room. "Here to check on your husband, I imagine."

"How is he?" Leia asked in a rapid voice.

"Well, he's awake," said the doctor. "I think he's a bit shaken up, though."

"Do you think he'd like me to spend the night with him?"

Doctor Granyar smiled. "If he does, I'm sure you'll have permission."

With that, the doctor stepped aside to let Leia in the room, where Han was sitting up in bed, picking at the last remains of his dinner.

"Finished?" Doctor Graynar asked.

"Yeah, thanks," Han said in a gloomy voice. The doctor took the tray and left the room, giving the husband and wife some privacy.

"Hey," said Leia, kissing her husband's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Instead of answering, Han grabbed her hand and held it up to his nose, brushing the fingers one by one against the tip. "Leia . . ." he said in his forever-raspy voice, ". . . are you wearin' perfume right now?"

Leia's heart thumped. "A little . . ."

"What kind?"

Leia swallowed. "Sharda Fragrance, the kind made from those Naboo flowers."

"Sharda," Han repeated, pressing one of her fingers under his nose, where Leia felt no breath. "Yeah, I remember Sharda. I liked that kind . . . always made you smell so nice. Not that I'll ever smell it again, though." He suddenly dropped the hand. "Wonder what'll happen if I get a cold – will I even notice?"

Leia swallowed again. "Han . . . Doctor Graynar says I can spend the night here if you'd like."

Han gazed at his wife with tired eyes. "She says that's probably gonna happen again – the nervous breakdown thing. Post-traumatic stress, she calls it. Probably won't be long before she adds the _disorder_ part."

Leia grabbed her husband's real hand. "Honey, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Sure," said Han, "it just happened in front of a whole bunch of people."

"Our _friends_ and _family."_

"It's still probably all over the HoloNet by now. 'General Han Solo Suffers Nervous Breakdown – Is He Losing His Mind?'"

"Han, _stop it!"_ Leia shouted. "You survived something _terrible_ – of _course_ you're going to suffer post-traumatic stress! You wouldn't be human if you didn't." She squeezed his fingers. "It's _nothing_ to be ashamed of – _none_ of this is."

"Yeah," said Han, "that's why you're holdin' _that_ hand, right? The _other_ hand doesn't bother you at all, right?"

With that, Leia walked around the bed and took his artificial hand, pressing into each finger although they didn't yield to her touch. "Han, I _love_ this hand."

Han cocked his head at her, slightly tugging at the tube in his neck. "You know I hate bein' lied to."

Leia slowly turned the hand over, gazing down at the palm that had no lines. "This hand _helps_ you, Han. You can function with two hands again – so what if it's not exactly the same as your old hand?"

"It just reminds me every damn day that my old hand's _gone,_ that's all. _"_ The mechanical fingers curled around Leia's hand. "Did you know that after Ben cut my hand off, he spat on it and threw it on the chest machine?"

Leia tensed up. "No . . ."

"And I was strapped down," Han continued, "so I couldn't move it. I had to _look_ at my dismembered hand for ages before a stormtrooper finally took it away." He trembled slightly. "I don't know what they did with it – they probably threw it away. My hand probably got crushed in some trash compactor."

Leia's stomach jumped at the thought. "Han . . ." Without hesitation, she raised the hand to her lips and kissed it, feeling hardness against her lips. "Honey . . . I don't know what to say."

Han looked like he wanted to cry – he was blinking in quick little motions. "That kiss right there . . . I couldn't feel it. I felt somethin' press against it and that's _all."_

He couldn't feel it. Leia's eyes started welling up, but she quickly blinked back the tears, hoping Han hadn't seen them. She had to be strong for him.

But now the hand reached up and pressed itself against her cheek, feeling like a hand-shaped ice block. "Leia . . ." Han said, ". . . you can cry if you want."

Leia sniffled, pressing her own hand against his. "So can you."

Once those little acknowledgments were given, they both released their tears.

. . .

Leia couldn't sleep. It had never been easy for her to sleep in hospitals, since hospitals themselves never seemed to sleep. The streak of light visible under the door felt intrusive, as did the voices and beeps coming from somewhere beyond it. Some part of her psyche felt that if it allowed itself to relax, something would immediately enter and disturb her.

She rolled over to face her husband, who was lying on his side, facing away from her, his mechanical breath in its endless cycle of in, out, in, out, in, out. Was he already asleep? His breath certainly didn't give any clues – it was _always_ in that slow, steady rhythm.

"Han?" she whispered. "Han, are you asleep?"

She felt silly asking it and even sillier when he gave no answer. Ever-so-gently, she stroked his back, feeling his flesh and bone through his hospital robe, unlike the metal that was now his chest. Never again would his chest yield to her touch.

"Ben?"

A tiny whisper pushing through the dark, so tiny that Leia wondered if she had actually heard it, but then it came again.

"Ben?"

Leia froze, her hand still on his back.

"Ben . . ." the raspy whisper kept on, calling out to a son who wasn't there, ". . . Ben . . . come on . . . Ben, don't be scared . . . Daddy's here . . . it's all right . . . Daddy's here . . ."

Her eyes welled up again, almost seeing her little son in the dark, sleeping between his parents as he often did after his nightmares . . .

"Ben . . . please . . . Ben . . . stop . . . you don't have to do this . . . Ben . . . Ben . . . _Ben!_ "

"Han?" Leia whispered, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Han?"

" _Ben!"_

"Han, wake up!" Leia called, gripping his shoulder but afraid to shake it for fear that it would disturb his life support machine.

"Ben! Ben . . . please . . . come to Daddy . . . _please!_ "

"Han, _wake up!"_ Leia shouted, rolling him to his back as gently as she could and running her hand down his cheek, which was drenched in sweat.

"Ben!" Han repeated, his voice sounding like it wanted to shout even though his lack of breath meant he could never shout again. "Ben . . . Ben . . ." He repeated their son's name in the same desperation he had this afternoon, as if he were calling out to the dead.

"Han, wake up . . . wake up . . ." She pressed into his cheek, gently pushing his head to the side. "It's just a dream . . ."

"Ben . . . Ben . . ." Finally his eyes opened, his lashes brushing against Leia's thumb.

"Han?" Leia repeated.

His arms were trembling – he would have been panting if he could breathe normally, but his mechanical breath kept its steady drone as if he were in a peaceful sleep. "L-Leia . . ."

Leia stroked her husband's forehead. "It's all right, it was just a nightmare."

Han swallowed several times in rapid succession, fresh sweat drenching Leia's fingers. " _Just_ a nightmare?"

Leia lowered her eyes at her husband's silhouetted face. "No . . ." she said softly, ". . . not _just_ a nightmare. We never woke up from _this_ nightmare."

Han slowly rolled over to face her, wrapping a trembling arm around her, the hardness in his chest brushing against her through their thin layers of clothing. She gently wrapped her own arm around his neck, curling her fingers into his hair.

"I keep seeing him . . ." Han muttered. "Over and over . . . maybe he's tryin' to Force-reach me from prison or somethin' . . . or maybe I'm just . . ."

The words hung unfinished in the air. Maybe he was going to say "crazy" or "sick" or "desperate to get Ben back for _real_ ," but he said nothing more for the rest of the night. Both parents were left to imagine whatever was going through their son's mind as he sat in his holding cell.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Also, I'm not sure exactly what the age gap between Ben and Rey is, but I'm pretty sure he's at least ten years older than her.

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 3

"Happy Birthday, Rey!"

The younger Luke placed a little cake that said "Happy 2nd Birthday!" on the highchair tray, where the birthday girl was already laughing, several strands of hair sticking out from her braids. Next to the highchair, the girl's mother Rianna was laughing with her daughter. "No eating yet!" she exclaimed in her deep voice. "First you have to blow out the candles!"

"Candewls!" the girl shouted.

Luke grinned at his daughter as he stuck two candles into the cake. "Hey Ben," he asked, "would you like to do the honors?"

The datapad shook in the older Rey's hands as that boy entered the screen, _that_ boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old in the recording, _that boy._

"I'd love it," he said.

"Ben, Ben!" the toddler Rey exclaimed, reaching out to him and kicking her bare feet.

The older Rey ground her teeth.

"Careful, Ben," said Han's voice from somewhere behind the camera, "don't set her on fire."

" _Daaaad,"_ Ben groaned as Luke handed him the candlelighter, after which he turned to his cousin with a big grin. "You want the candles lit, Rey? Do ya? Do ya?"

The girl giggled. "Ben! Wite candewls!"

Present day Rey's hands tightened their grip on the datapad so hard that the skin stretched over her knuckles.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

Rey paused the recording and looked up to see her father entering Pooja's sitting room. "Hello, Luke," she said.

A tiny sigh escaped Luke's lips as he sat next to his daughter. "You know you can call me Dad, right?"

"Yes," said Rey, gazing back down at the datapad screen where her cousin was frozen. "I'm sorry . . . but I'm just not comfortable doing that yet."

Luke's mouth twisted slightly, but he said nothing more on that subject – instead he looked down at the datapad. "Your second birthday . . ." he murmured.

"Yes," Rey answered with a swallow. "My _cousin's_ about to light the candles . . ."

"Do you mind if I watch with you?" Luke asked.

Rey swallowed again, staring down at _that_ boy, her mind seeing him thrust the lightsaber through his father. "Actually . . . I was about to stop."

"Were you _really_?"

Rey wanted to look up at her father, but the image on the datapad kept her eyes still. The hand holding the candlelighter . . . she had cut it off. She had cut _both_ his hands off.

She could still smell his blood as it oozed out of his stumps.

" _How?"_ she suddenly shouted, throwing down the datapad on the caf table.

"How what?" Luke asked.

"How did that boy lighting birthday candles become that _monster?"_

Luke gently stroked her shoulder with his real hand. "The dark side is very powerful . . ."

"I _know!"_ Rey interrupted. "I've _felt_ the dark side myself . . . I've _acted_ on it, but I still can't imagine . . ."

Luke slowly picked up the datapad, gazing down at the boy on the screen.

"I could never thrust a lightsaber through _you,"_ Rey continued. "Even though I've only known who you are for a little while, even though you _left me_ – which I'm sure _Han_ never did – I wouldn't do what Kylo did to _his_ father!"

The old Jedi placed the datapad back on the caf table, the lines in his face visibly tightened from his daughter's comment about how Han never abandoned his child. "There was a time when Ben would have said the same thing. If anyone had told him that he would try to kill his father, he would have been horrified."

Rey gulped several times before she gained the courage to pick the datapad back up. "I don't remember him like this . . ." she said in a near-whisper. "I . . . I don't remember _any_ of that life beyond a few flashes." She slowly, hesitantly turned her gaze from the datapad to her father's eyes. "Why can't I?"

Luke's eyes lowered, his artificial fingers taking a pinch of his robe. "When your mother died . . . you kind of withdrew from everything. You barely even spoke . . . maybe your mind blocked things out. And . . . I knew your cousin would come after you too and I couldn't let that happen. I thought . . . I thought my only choice was to hide you away where he'd never find you." He blinked back tears. "I found a couple on Jakku willing to take you in . . ."

"Yes," Rey interrupted, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice, "I remember them. They died too."

Luke slowly looked back up at his daughter, his eyes moist. "I never meant for things to turn out like this . . . but Rey, we still have a future ahead of us. Maybe things can't be made _right_ , but they can at least be made better." He picked up the datapad again, holding it up in front of them. "We could watch this together and then maybe I could show you some meditation techniques – what do you say?"

Rey didn't respond, but she gripped the side of the datapad with one hand and restarted the recording with the other.

. . .

Leia entered Han's hospital room and found him asleep, the afternoon sun gleaming over him. She would have let him rest and come back later, but a tiny sound was coming from the small table next to his bed, barely audible over the mechanical breathing. As she made her way closer to the bed, she noticed that the sound was coming from a datapad propped up on the table, its screen facing the bed.

There was a baby wail, and singing.

 _Her_ singing.

She finally looked at the screen and there was her younger self, cradling their baby son, singing him an Alderaanian lullaby.

"Let your dreams protect you," she sang in a slow, gliding voice, "and guide you through the night, let your dreams protect you, your fantasies take flight . . ."

"Did I ever mention what a great voice you have?" Han's younger voice murmured from behind the camera.

"Han, shh!" Leia whispered. "Ben's finally settling down."

"Sorry," Han whispered, "but you _do_ have an amazing voice. You should sing _me_ to sleep sometime."

After a snicker, Leia resumed her lullaby, gazing down at her baby, a serene smile on her face.

Present day Leia gazed down at the recording as the song ended . . . but then the recording automatically started again.

Han had it playing on a loop.

Leia gulped as she turned to face her husband, remembering his dream from the night before. Was he afraid of the nightmare coming back? His closed eyes were creasing and relaxing in a rhythmic manner – was he dreaming now? Did the lullaby from the recording find its way into his dreams?

" _Let your dreams protect you . . ."_

The very idea of Han wanting a lullaby to help him sleep might have struck Leia as bizarre a while ago, but now, after all her husband had been through, it somehow didn't surprise her Right now he was probably desperate for any kind of comfort he could get.

She reached down and ran her hand through her husband's gray hair, gently pinching strands between her fingers. "Let your dreams protect you," she found herself whisper-singing along with her younger self, "and guide you through the night, let your dreams protect you, your fantasies take flight . . ."

 _Dream about our son,_ she found herself thinking as she glanced back at the baby in the recording. _Our_ real _son._


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing! And Happy Star Wars Day! May the Fourth be with you.

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 4

"Is Leia comin'?" Han asked after spitting in the basin and handing the toothbrush back to Doctor Graynar.

"Probably," the doctor replied. "It's hard to keep her away." She went over to the sink to empty the basin and rinse the toothbrush. "Would you like the recording again tonight?" she asked as she headed back to the bed, where the datapad still sat on the end table. "It seemed to help this afternoon."

Han's stomach flinched at the thought of Leia finding out about the recording and how her long-ago lullaby had actually soothed him . . . but then it flinched again at the thought of _not_ having the lullaby, of having to only hear the _sound_ in the darkness, of the nightmares possibly returning . . .

"Han," came a familiar voice, "it's all right, I know about the recording."

He looked up and there was Leia standing in the doorway, her pajamas dangling over her arm. His face heating up, he immediately darted a glare at the doctor. "Did you tell her?"

"No," Leia said before Doctor Graynar could answer, "she didn't tell me." She walked up to the bed with a gentle smile. "I came in during your nap." She reached down and patted his wrist. "It's all right, Han. We can listen to it together. It will probably help _both_ of us sleep."

Han said nothing as Leia went to the refresher to change and Doctor Graynar set up the datapad. In a few moments, his wife's voice was singing again to their little son.

"Could you turn it up a bit?" he asked.

"Are you sure?" asked the doctor. "You might not be able to sleep if it's too loud."

Han groaned. "I already got a noise I can't _ever_ turn off. Might be nice to drown it out a _little_ bit."

"All right," said Doctor Graynar, turning the volume up slightly. "Well, you're all set. If you need me during the night, just buzz me."

"I will," said Han. "Night."

"Good night," Doctor Graynar replied, turning off the lights and exiting the room just as Leia emerged from the refresher in her lavender pajamas, her graying hair down and falling over her shoulders.

"Hey, sweetheart," Han said in his raspy voice as Leia kissed his head.

"Hey," Leia replied before gazing down at her younger self singing to the baby. "It's . . . it's wonderful that you found something that helps."

Han ran his teeth over his lip as his wife climbed into bed next to him. "Don't get too comfortable – it only worked _once."_

Leia rolled over to face her husband, placing her hand on his cheek. "Well, if it doesn't work, I'm here."

Han kept his gaze fixed over at the recording of his younger wife, back in the time of blissful oblivion. His younger self was complimenting Leia's voice and joking about how she should sing him to sleep.

"Well, you actually did it," Han murmured.

"Did what?"

Han turned to face his present day wife. "You sang me to sleep this afternoon, just like I said in that recording." He rolled his eyes. "Back then I didn't exactly mean for it to be like _this,_ though."

"It's all right," Leia said again, so quickly that it felt like a prepared response. She gave a tiny sigh as her hand slipped off of his cheek. "I should have sung to you back when my voice was still decent."

" _Your_ voice?" Han exclaimed. " _Your_ voice is still as beautiful as it's always been – _I'm_ the one who's got a shitty voice now."

Leia glanced downwards. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Han sank his head down in the pillow, closing his eyes. "No, _I'm_ sorry. Let's just go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay." He felt her kiss his cheek. "Good night, honey."

"Night, sweetheart."

As the _sound_ he could never escape droned on and on, he ferociously kept himself focused on his wife's lullaby, concentrating on letting it put him to sleep like it did to their baby.

" _Let your dreams protect you and guide you through the night . . ."_

"Let your dreams protect you" – what idiotic lyrics. Dreams sure as hell didn't _protect_ Han right now.

" _Let your dreams protect you, your fantasies take flight . . ."_

Maybe the lullaby wouldn't work. An afternoon nap was one thing, but this was the entire night. Maybe after a few hours his mind would get tired of the song and decide to send the nightmares again.

" _Let your dreams protect you and guide you through the night . . ."_

Focus on the song, Han kept telling himself. Don't listen to the _sound._

And above all, don't return to the bridge . . .

" _Let your dreams protect you, your fantasies take flight . . ."_

It took the recording several loops, but at long last it did its job and lulled Han to sleep.

. . .

The song played again, and again, and again, mixing with Han's mechanical breath, neither of which ever gave Leia's ear a break. At first she thought it could soothe her the way it soothed her husband, but with each repeated playing she returned to those long ago nights of singing her son to sleep, back when he was a happy baby.

Back when he wasn't a murderer sitting in prison.

She hadn't seen Ben since the return to Coruscant, though she knew she _should_ visit him. But then again, maybe seeing his mother would set him back, remind him of how he had told her how to work Han's breathing apparatus – a moment that, Leia sensed, he saw as a weakness. He was _ashamed_ that he had saved his father.

If the old Ben was ever going to truly return, maybe right now he needed to be left alone.

Or maybe Leia was just telling herself that because she was afraid of seeing his dark side self again after some small part of the old Ben had showed up before.

Maybe she was afraid of losing that glimmer of hope.

Han's breathing droned in, out, in, out, in, out, making Leia gulp. On their first night together in the hospital, she had jokingly commented that she missed his snoring – but it wasn't really a joke. Even his loudest snores still had _life._ There was no life in the sound that passed for his breath now – it would go on, and on, and on, never changing.

Just like Vader . . .

A tear streamed down her face as her past self kept singing on into the night.

. . .

Kylo Ren lay on his cell's bunk, raising his new artificial hands up, staring at them as the fingers curled and extended. Leia Organa had made his captors promise that they'd give him new hands, but she hadn't specified that they be _quality_ hands. As such, his hands looked like they came from some discarded droid – they were rusty gray and robotic in appearance and there seemed to be a delay between when his brain commanded them to move and when they actually moved.

"Ben Solo."

Kylo shot up to a sitting position, glaring at the guard standing outside the forcefield wall. "That's not my NAME!" he shouted.

"Ben Solo," the guard repeated, ignoring his outburst, "you have a visitor."

"Who?" Kylo asked in a disinterested manner. "I thought Han Solo was still in the hospital."

"He is," said the guard. "Your visitor is a young lady by the name of Rey Skywalker."


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Thanks once again for reading and reviewing! Sorry it took me so long to update – things have been pretty hectic in my life.

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 5

"Stay away from the forcefield," the guard warned in a crisp, no-nonsense tone, but Rey didn't need to be told that. She certainly had no desire to go near the forcefield, though she wished the guards hadn't made her turn in her grandfather's lightsaber. She felt defenseless without it.

Her _cousin_ was glaring at her, his face tinted red from the forcefield. "Why are you here?" he asked in a low voice as he held up one of his mechanical hands. "Did you come to see the result of our _last_ meeting?"

"It's no more than you deserve," Rey muttered. "In fact, you deserve _less_ than that. I hope you rot in here."

Now there was a hint of a grin on his face. "Charming as always, cousin. Hasn't your father been teaching you about how anger is a path to the dark side? Or is he still refusing to teach you anything?"

Rey felt her teeth grinding. "My _father's_ actually been showing me old recordings of you. Or who you _used_ to be."

Kylo's glare returned. "So are you here to tell me all about Ben Solo's past in hope that I'll come running back to your family? If so, you're just as stupid as the rest of the family."

Rey's breath seemed to be disobeying her brain's orders for it to slow down and stay calm. "Why did you do it?" she hissed.

"Do what?"

"Why did you tell Leia how to save Han?" It wasn't the question she had meant to ask, but now that it was uttered, she realized that it had been on her mind all this time. "You obviously hate him. Your first attempt to kill him failed, but there you were with a glorious second chance. You could have refused to talk – or better yet you could have lied and told her something that would end your father's life once and for all. So why didn't you?"

A very visible tremble went through Kylo's body as his face hardened once again. As if he didn't realize he was in prison, he came charging towards his cousin with a blood-curdling scream until he smacked into the forcefield, the _zap_ of the collision making Rey shiver.

"You want to take advantage of a _weak_ moment, is that it?" Kylo shouted as he stumbled backwards.

"So saving your father's life was _weak?"_ Rey exclaimed. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

Kylo only glared at her through the forcefield.

"Your parents keep insisting that there's good in you," Rey continued. " _Is_ there?"

"Get out," Kylo growled.

"My father showed me a recording of you lighting candles at my birthday party," Rey continued in a rapid voice. "Do you remember that?"

"GET OUT!" Kylo repeated, his body twisting as if he wanted to charge at the forcefield again.

"Miss," said the guard, "for your safety, I suggest you leave."

Rey ignored the guard. " _Your_ father's suffering every minute because of _you!_ Do you even _care?"_

"GET _OUT!"_ Kylo screamed again, snarling like an animal.

Now the guard's hand was on Rey's arm. "Miss, I'm going to have to insist you leave. The prisoner is unstable."

"Oh, I _know_ that," said Rey, but she still obeyed the guard, glaring at Kylo for as long as she was able.

. . .

"Han, why haven't you eaten?"

Han just stared down at his breakfast. "I ain't hungry."

"Really?" asked Doctor Graynar. "I thought you loved pancakes."

Han ground his teeth, banging the fork on his plate. "I _did,_ but nothin' tastes right anymore since I lost my nose."

Doctor Graynar's mouth twisted as if she didn't know how to respond to that. "Well . . . you still need to eat."

Han glanced over at Leia, who was sound asleep next to him as she had been all morning. "And I think I kept Leia up last night with that damn recording. Or maybe it was my damn breath, or both."

"Well you need to sleep too," Doctor Graynar said in a firmer voice, "and that recording helps you sleep right now. I think Leia's perfectly willing to go along with that."

Almost as if she'd heard what they were talking about, Leia's body chose that moment to snore.

"Well _she_ needs to sleep too," Han muttered.

Doctor Graynar gave one of her overly-cheery smiles. "Han, don't beat yourself up. Why don't you eat something?"

"I told you I wasn't hungry!" Han's voice would have come out in a shout if it weren't a permanent rasp.

The doctor licked her lips. "Well . . . does your catheter need emptying?"

"Oh, thanks for remindin' me of _that!"_

Doctor Graynar licked her lips again. "Well . . . if you tried walking again, you could get yourself to the refresher."

Walking. Han glanced past the doctor at the refresher door, mere feet away, but it might as well be halfway across the galaxy. Walking. Take one step, then another, then return to the bridge.

"Would you like to try walking again now?" the doctor continued. "I'll help you."

Han said nothing.

"No one's watching now," Doctor Graynar persisted, her smile actually looking natural for once.

Han still wished he could sigh and thought he would never get over that. "Fine . . . let's try."

. . .

Leia awoke to the voices of her husband and his doctor, underscored by the ever-present sound of Han's mechanical breath. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, gradually bringing Han's back into focus. Drowsiness made her eyes want to glue themselves shut again, but a few more heavy blinks revealed that she was actually looking _up_ at Han's back.

As if he were standing.

With that, Leia completely woke up and realized that yes, her husband _was_ standing.

"Let me know when you're ready," the doctor was saying, her arm wrapped around his back and woven under his arms, creating a study support.

"That might take a while," Han muttered.

"Come on," Doctor Graynar encouraged, "you can do it, I know you can."

Leia considered letting Han know she was awake and offering her own support, but decided against it. She felt that Han wanted to try walking _without_ an audience this time and even his wife's presence might add pressure.

"Put one foot in front of the other," the doctor continued, "just like you did as an infant."

"Ya know, bringin' up a time I don't remember ain't exactly the best way to encourage me."

The doctor snickered. "Well if babies can do it, you _certainly_ can."

Han was still for what might have been several minutes, then suddenly there was a large _stomp._

"Very good," said Doctor Graynar. "What did I tell you?"

Han said nothing – instead he stepped forward with his real foot. Leia immediately felt a smile form.

 _Stomp,_ step, _stomp,_ step . . . Leia was about to let Han know she was awake and congratulate him, but a sudden cry froze her body.

"Ben!" It was in his small rasp, but it still carried the intensity of a shout. "Ben!"

"Han," Doctor Graynar said in a firm voice, "Ben isn't here. It's just you and me, remember?"

"Ben!" Han's body was sliding again. "Ben!"

"It's in your mind, Han," the doctor continued, gripping his side despite the weight pressing down on it. "You're safe in the hospital."

"Ben . . . Ben . . . "

She lost her grip and he slid out of her arm.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing!

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 6

Once again, Han was waking up hazy with his limbs stiff and his doctor leaning over him as if she expected him to snap any moment. Every blink wanted to send him back into blackness, but he fought it, forcing himself to look up at the doctor.

"Did I do it again?" he mumbled after his dry throat swallowed several times.

"Yes, you did," Doctor Graynar said in a no-nonsense voice. "And _this_ time, you fell over."

"I _what?"_

The doctor held up her hands, palms out, as if shielding herself. "Luckily, you just got a few bruises, but it _could_ have been serious. Falling like that could damage your life support."

The _sound_ droned on as Han's eyes flicked around, searching his arms for bruises and finding a purplish mark near his left elbow. "So lemmie guess, my arm cushioned the fall?"

"Not totally," said Doctor Graynar, a wry smile forming on her face. "Your legs helped too. No broken bones, fortunately – but next time you might not be so lucky."

Han groaned, leaning back into his pillow. "Who says there's gonna be a next time?"

"Well, I don't imagine you want to live the rest of your life in bed, do you?"

Han groaned again. "Where's Leia?"

"Somewhere," said the doctor. "I don't exactly keep track of where all the visitors go when they leave the hospital, but she should be back soon." Her mouth twisted as she sat in a chair next to the bed that she must have set up when Han was unconscious. "Han, we need to talk."

"Yeah yeah," said Han. "You don't need to tell me, I know I got that PTSD stuff."

"Yes," said the doctor, her fingers interlinking each other, "but it's not just that. Han, you can't stay here forever – you need to regain your independence." She sighed through her nose. "And if you can't walk without triggering an episode, then I'm gonna have to _insist_ that you start counseling."

Han's teeth rolled over his tongue, then his lip, then his tongue again as he tried to push out the bad memories of counseling after Ben's fall to the dark side, how counselors insisted that he would just have to _deal_ with it and that everything would heal with _time._ "Yeah?" he finally said. "And what if I refuse?"

Doctor Graynar sighed. "I'm afraid that's not an option at this point."

"So you're _forcin'_ me?"

"It's for your own good," the doctor said in a firm voice.

For his own good. The _sound's_ volume seemed to increase, pumping into his ears. How the hell did he end up like this?

"Our psych ward has several good counselors," Doctor Graynar continued, pushing a strand of red hair out of her face. "I'll set you up with someone I think will be a good match, but if you don't like that one we can try another one. If necessary, they can also prescribe medications."

"Yeah," Han said in a bitter voice. "Go ahead, use meds to manipulate my brain chemistry into thinkin' everything's all right when it's _not."_ He held up his artificial hand. "Dope me up enough and I could start thinkin' this is my _real_ hand."

"Han . . . this is to _help_ you."

"Well maybe I don't _need_ that kinda help."

The doctor sighed again. "Han, you are _physically_ able to walk – your muscles have pretty much gotten over their atrophy. The thing keeping you from walking is _mental."_

. . .

Rey knocked on Finn's door, her hand still trembling. "Finn?" she called in a small voice. "Finn, are you here?"

Finally the door slid open and revealed Finn, lifting his eyebrow at her. "Rey? What's going on?"

"Can I come in?" Her words were so rapid that they almost ran together.

"Uh, sure." The former stormtrooper let the former scavenger into his tiny apartment, where they sat next to each other on the bed. "What's going on?"

Rey gulped. "I . . . I visited my _cousin_ this morning."

Finn's eyes bulged. "You . . . you need a hug or something?"

Rey swallowed again, her breath still escaping in pants. "I think I could use one."

With that, Finn wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her close to him. "Why would you _do_ something like that?"

"I don't know," said Rey, resting her head on his shoulder. "Maybe because my _father's_ been showing me what he _used_ to be like – maybe some stupid part of me thought that if I reminded him of it . . . but then he _charged_ at me, if there hadn't been a forcefield between us . . ."

"Hey, hey, shhh," Finn whispered, gently patting her back. "It's all right."

"I didn't ask for this." Rey felt herself sniffling. "I didn't ask for _any_ of this . . . one minute I'm a nobody scavenger and the next I'm _Luke Skywalker's_ daughter . . . "

"Hey," Finn repeated, pulling out of the embrace and looking into her eyes, "I didn't ask for any of this either. One minute I'm a stormtrooper identified by a number, the next I'm wearing a Resistance jacket and I've actually got a _name."_ He gave her a tiny grin. "Sometimes I wake up thinking I'm _still_ a stormtrooper."

Rey managed to smile back, but only for a moment. "Well, you're not _Kylo Ren's_ cousin."

"No," said Finn, wrapping his arms around her again. "But I'm your friend." He ran his hand up and down her back. "Tell you what, if you want to visit him again, I'll come with you if you want."

"No, I don't think that's a good idea."

Finn shrugged. "No, probably not, but it's what friends do."

. . .

Leia's lullaby was playing again in the afternoon sun as Han lay in his hospital bed, trying to sleep. His legs were stiff from the physical therapy session Doctor Graynar had run him through and his body wanted to sink down into oblivion, but his mind kept wandering to the past.

When Ben was little, his naptimes were spent on his parents' bed with Han lying next to him. Sometimes a datapad would be softly playing Ben's favorite lullabies in the background. The child often complained about having to take naps, but most of the time he'd agree to settle down if Daddy would take a nap with him. So they'd lie together, Han sometimes stroking his son's back in rhythmic motions to get him to relax. Most afternoons Han would drift off to sleep along with his son, lulled by Ben's slow, soothing breath.

Nothing like the _sound_ that forever plagued his ears now.

"Ben . . ." he murmured, only vaguely aware that he was doing so, his mind floating between sleep and wakefulness, ". . . don't be afraid . . ."

Finally he fell asleep, swirling into dreams.

And there was Ben.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Thanks as always for reading and reviewing!

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 7

There was Han Solo.

Kylo Ren paced up and down the bridge like a caged reek, refusing to acknowledge Han Solo's presence at the end. The man he called Dad in another life looked pathetic as always: crumpled on the floor, his artificial breathing giving that wheezing sound. So far Han Solo hadn't spoken, but his gaze never left his son.

He wasn't really here, Kylo kept telling himself. He would awaken soon and Han Solo would vanish.

"Son . . ." the raspy voice called out as best it could.

Kylo wasn't going to acknowledge the voice. He just kept pacing up and down, up and down the bridge, his hands in his pockets. He didn't know if this dream had given him his real hands back or if he had his artificial ones, but he wasn't eager to find out.

Just a few more minute and he would wake up . . .

A few more minutes . . .

Han Solo kept staring at him as if expecting him to say something. Well there was nothing to be said. Kylo turned away from his father, pacing back up the bridge.

"Ben . . . are you doin' okay?"

With that, Kylo whirled around, shooting a glare at the disabled man. " _What_ kind of question is _that?"_

Han Solo glanced down at his left hand – his _left_ hand. Colored and textured like flesh despite having been sliced off. With a growl, Kylo took his hands out of his pockets and sure enough, they were the discarded droid hands he had in the waking world.

"You're right," Han Solo muttered as he gradually looked back up, "that was a stupid question." Now he was staring at Kylo's artificial hands. "Things _aren't_ okay for you."

Kylo snarled, thinking again of kicking Han Solo back into the abyss as he held up one of his robotic hands. "Do you see this? Do you see what your _niece_ did?"

Han Solo kept staring at Kylo's hand as if trying to penetrate through it. "Yeah Ben, I see."

"And that's _all_ you have to say?"

The old man's eyes still wouldn't leave the hand. "I dunno what else to say, son."

"Did you _send_ your niece to see me?"

With a swallow, Han Solo finally looked Kylo in the eye. "Rey came to see you?"

Kylo growled. "Don't – play – stupid!"

"I'm serious, Ben, I had no idea she came to see you."

Once again Kylo held up his artificial hands. "She's _proud_ of this, do you know that?"

"Ben . . ."

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"

Han Solo swallowed again as he shifted himself to a sitting position, though the machine in his chest still pulled him slightly forward. "Son," he said, patting the floor beside him with his artificial hand, metal striking metal, "why don't you come sit down? I dunno how long we got before we wake up . . . maybe we could talk some."

"We've _talked_ plenty!"

The old man once again looked at Kylo's sorry excuses for hands – maybe he was trying to memorize them for when he woke up. "I never thanked you."

"For _what?"_ Kylo spat.

"You know for _what,"_ Han Solo mumbled. "I know you're ashamed of it, I know you think you were weak, I know you wish I was dead . . . but thank you."

Kylo whirled around, turning his back to his father, though he didn't resume his pacing.

"I know it sucks to be in prison," the old man continued, "but . . . I sent you something. You should be gettin' it today."

Again Kylo refused to acknowledge his father.

"You don't have to say anything, son." Han Solo just kept speaking as if he liked hearing his pathetic rasp of a voice. "I know you're goin' through hell."

Kylo wished he could make himself deaf for this dream so he wouldn't hear his father's next words.

"I still love you, Ben . . ."

 _Those_ words. Again they pounded in his head, causing actual pain. He gripped his temples, gritting his teeth, feeling a scream forming in his throat.

His body toppled over.

And fell into the abyss.

. . .

The scream in Kylo's throat materialized as he woke up – long, loud, savage, only fading when he realized he was back in his prison bed, far from Han Solo. Once that realization sunk in, his breath came in and out in long, dry heaves as his every blink sent him back to the bridge where Han Solo was supposed to die.

With trembling nerves, he rolled over, seeing the dinner tray resting on the small ledge that passed for a shelf – it must have come through the chute while he was asleep. It took several moments to motivate his body to actually get up and several more moments to stumble across his cell to the food.

A tiny datapad lay among the meager meal, giving Kylo a distorted reflection of himself in its screen. For a moment he thought he could use it to send a message to Snoke, but then he realized that the guards must have already thoroughly searched it – it certainly wouldn't have any HoloNet connections.

" _I sent you something . . ."_

Kylo's teeth ground together. His first thought was to throw the datapad across the room, then he wished he had his lightsaber so he could slice it in half. Then something – perhaps a morbid bit of curiosity – compelled him to play whatever recording was on it.

Of course Han Solo appeared on the screen – decades younger, hair brown, face unwrinkled, bearing that obnoxious grin of his.

"Hey kiddo!" Han Solo shouted. "Well, your mommy and I just found out you're a boy. And . . . wow, it's a bit weird. You kinda feel more real now that you're a _he_ instead of an _it."_ He gave a quick, nervous-sounding chuckle. "Well, we still got a few months before you're born, but I can't stop thinkin' about you. Your mommy squealed today when your image came up on the screen – and she _never_ squeals. Actually . . . I might've squealed too." He chuckled again. "Your image was so blurry, but we could still pick out your head, your fingers, your cute little toes."

Kylo's mechanical fingers pressed down on the screen.

"I dunno what your name's gonna be yet," the recording continued. "Your mommy's pretty hesitant about 'Han Solo Junior,' but we'll see."

Kylo growled.

Han Solo was grinning again. "But no matter what we end up namin' you, I'm proud of you, son. You're still in your mommy's belly and I'm already proud of you. However old you get, I'll _always_ be proud of you. Can't wait to meet you, son."

With that, a savage scream pushed its way out of Kylo's throat and he smashed the datapad against the wall. Once, twice, three times, harder and harder every time, the screams still pushing themselves out as Han Solo's voice crinkled and faded and the datapad was reduced to a pile of broken pieces and sparking circuitry.

Finally the screams faded. The broken datapad slid out of Kylo's hands and to the floor, where it kept sparking and popping. After several heaving breaths, Kylo too slid to the floor, sinking to his knees, leaning forward as if he were about to vomit. He clutched his chest, his artificial hands squeezing his sides and bringing pain.

Two tears escaped his eyes.

. . .

Han woke up feeling like he wanted to yawn, though of course he couldn't. Still, his mouth opened regardless of the fact that no air came in. Ben . . . the bridge . . .

Did they share a dream again?

"Hey sweetheart," Leia's voice said.

His eyes slowly opened, revealing not only Leia, but also Doctor Graynar, both hovering over him with expectant eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" the doctor asked with one of her "doctor smiles."

"Guess so," Han mumbled, carefully rubbing his eyes with his unyielding fingers.

"Good," said Doctor Graynar. "Because I have someone I want you to meet."

In stepped a young woman – younger than Doctor Graynar, possibly only a few years older than Ben – with thick brown curls embracing her shoulders and a smile similar to Graynar's.

"This is Doctor Omha Vert," said Doctor Graynar. "She's going to be your counselor."


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Thanks as always for the reading and reviews!

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 8

"Hello Han," said Doctor Vert, that "doctor smile" unwavering. "I've heard a lot about you."

Han raised his eyebrow at her. "Yeah? Well I've heard nothin' about you."

As Doctor Graynar discreetly left the room, the counselor pulled a chair up to Han's bed. "Leia, if you don't mind giving us some time alone . . ."

"No," Han quickly said, raising his artificial hand. "She can stay."

Leia shifted her eyes as if unsure what to do for a moment, then she settled herself on the other side of Han's bed, taking his hand and planting a gentle peck on it.

"Er . . . all right," said Doctor Vert, "if that's what you want." She cleared her throat as she sat down and pulled out a datapad. "Now, where would you like to start?"

Han groaned. "Look, Doctor . . ."

"Omha," the counselor corrected. "I like to be on a first-name basis with my patients."

"Fine, whatever," said Han. "Look, I'm sure you're a nice lady and all, but I don't need therapy."

"Really?" said Omha, glancing down at her datapad. "Your record here seems to indicate otherwise." She leaned forward, pressing the datapad against her chest. "Now, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, so why don't you start the conversation? Tell me about your problems."

Han couldn't help but slightly roll his eyes. "Hey, my _problem_ is that my kid stuck a lightsaber through me. Oh, and he cut off my hand _and_ my foot. Is that enough of a _problem_ for you?"

The counselor gave a slow nod, glancing again at the datapad. "I understand . . ."

"No you _don't!"_ Han interrupted. _"No one_ understands this!"

"Let me finish." Omha's voice was gentle, but with an underlying harshness. "As I was saying, I _understand_ that you've been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder."

Han felt his face heating up. He glanced over at his wife, who gave a tiny smile as she squeezed his artificial hand again. "Okay . . . yeah, can't argue with the record, I guess," he finally said.

Omha nodded, looking again at her datapad as if she was going to be tested on it. "I also understand that you've been having nightmares and flashbacks to that horrible day?"

"He found something to help with the nightmares," Leia intervened.

A chill ran through Han's body with those words. Did the recording _still_ help with nightmares? He had just visited the bridge even with the lullaby playing and . . . what else happened? He found himself closing his eyes, chasing the dream. Himself, Ben, the bridge, and what actually _happened?_

"Han?" Omha's voice coaxed.

Han opened his eyes, clenching his hands to keep them from trembling.

"Your wife said you found something to help with the nightmares," the doctor continued. "Is this true?"

Now Han was gripping his hospital gown to keep his hands from trembling, feeling the breathing device under it with only his real hand. "Well . . . it worked for a while, but now I ain't sure."

"I see," said Omha. "When was the last time you had one of these nightmares?"

 _About five minutes ago,_ he almost said, but instead he blinked at the counselor's face, thinking that maybe whatever he'd just dreamed wasn't _exactly_ a nightmare. Ben told him stuff . . . but what did he say?

"I dunno if it counts as a nightmare," he finally muttered, after which he felt Leia squeeze his arm.

"Yes?" Omha's voice was gentle, coaxing, probably the same tone she used with all her crazy patients.

Han again wished he could sigh. "Well . . . just now I might've shared a dream with my son."

"What?" Omha and Leia exclaimed together.

Han had to glance down to make sure his shaking hands weren't tearing his hospital gown open. "This is gonna sound crazy, but Leia can back me up. When Ben was holdin' me prisoner, he told me I was a bit Force-sensitive – just a bit, not enough to do any of that crazy shit the Jedi do, but enough to ah, _share dreams."_ He looked over at his wife, who was smiling at him. "Leia, she found me cause we shared a dream once."

"He's right," said Leia. "I'm not sure exactly how it works, but the Force . . . _connected_ our dreams."

"I think it's got something to do with two people reachin' out to each other just before goin' to sleep." Han felt insane just saying it out loud, but he couldn't deny what had happened to him at least three times. "Like, this afternoon I was thinkin' of Ben when I fell asleep . . . and I guess he was thinkin' of me . . ."

"Ben was reaching out to you," Leia whispered. "Do you think it's because of the gift?"

"No," Han automatically said, "he acted like he hadn't gotten the gift yet."

"What else happened?" Leia asked in a rapid voice.

"Now hold on, Leia," Omha said calmly. "He might not be comfortable talking about it yet."

Nothing but the _sound_ was heard for several minutes, during which Han closed his eyes, chasing the dream again. His son pacing up and down the bridge, refusing to look him in the eye. Rey . . . he said something about Rey . . . but what was it?

"Han?" Omha asked again.

Han's throat felt tight around the tube plugged into it as he opened his eyes. "Ben . . . he's suffering . . ."

Before Omha could speak, Leia grabbed her husband's cheek and pushed his head towards her. "He's suffering? What do you mean he's suffering?"

"Leia, please," said Omha. "We _are_ supposed to be having a session here."

"So you expect me to just say nothing when my son's suffering?" Leia shouted, her eyes flaring at the counselor.

"You already knew your son was in prison," Omha said in that calm-but-firm voice before turning her attention back to Han. "Now Han . . ."

"Now now, I gotta remember the dream."

"Han, this dream might have simply been that – a dream." Omha tapped her datapad with a long fingernail. "Your record says you've had plenty of nightmares about your son."

"Yeah, but _this_ one was different."

"How, exactly?"

Han thought the ability to sigh would come in really handy about now. "I dunno how to describe it, but it feels _different_ when I have these _connected_ dreams. It feels like the person's really _there_ instead of just bein' something my subconscious created, you know what I mean?"

The doctor sighed, making Han envious. "All right, I don't know if this is an actual 'connected' dream or not, but let's continue with this session and . . . Han, _please_ open your eyes."

Han obeyed, though he kept seeing Ben behind his blinks. "Look, I'm gonna forget this dream soon, so can we please do this some other time?"

Omha looked again at her datapad. "Han, please be reasonable here. I have other patients and I can't just rearrange my schedule on a whim because of a dream . . ."

Suddenly an image flashed in Han's mind. It was a tiny, fleeting image, but at least he could recognize it.

"Hands . . ." he mumbled.

"What?" Omha and Leia asked together.

"Ben's hands . . ." Han repeated. "His hands . . ."


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Thanks again for reading and reviewing!

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 9

Leia swallowed over and over as her husband's body trembled, creaking the bed. "Han?" she asked as calmly as she could, again gripping his metal hand. "What do you mean, Ben's hands?"

Han was blinking at the ceiling. "Something from the dream . . ."

Something in Leia's stomach went cold. In her mind she saw her son's hands flying off, his stumps oozing blood. "What was it?"

"He's got artificial hands . . ." Han muttered.

"Yes, yes," said Leia, gripping her husband's own artificial hand, pressing into the hardness. "I made sure the prison would give him new hands . . ."

"But did you tell them _what_ kind of hands to give him?"

"What do you mean?" both Leia and the counselor exclaimed at once.

Han's eyes were still on the ceiling as if he could see nothing else. "In the dream . . . his hands looked all old and worn . . . kinda like they belonged to a droid ready for the scrap pile."

" _Scrap pile?"_ Leia's eyebrows lowered as she dropped her husband's hand. Without paying Han or Omha any heed, she leapt to her feet and stormed out of the room, her blood boiling within her.

. . .

That evening, Han was only vaguely paying attention to the smashball game on the holovid, drumming his fingers on the empty dinner tray on his lap, trying as always to ignore the _sound_. Leia hadn't returned. He knew he shouldn't let that bother him, but if he still had a heart, he imagined it would be rapidly beating right now. What if Leia went to see Ben? If she did, would seeing his mother drive Ben further away from healing?

"Han," Doctor Graynar's voice suddenly said from the doorway, "you have a visitor."

"Kay, Leia can come in," said Han, not looking away from the holovid.

"I'm not Leia," said a familiar male voice.

Han swallowed, slowly turning towards the door, where there stood the bearded Jedi he had once called his best friend.

"Luke . . ." Han mumbled. "What're you doin' here?"

Luke shifted his eyes in an awkward manner. "I came to see you."

"Ain't you busy teachin' your daughter about the Force and all?"

"I gave Rey the evening off." Luke slowly made his way up to Han's bed. "She's been a bit upset lately."

Rey . . . Ben said something in the dream about Rey . . . but what was it?

"How are you doing?" Luke asked.

Han ground his teeth at his brother-in-law. "How do you _think_ I'm doin'?"

"All right, bad question." Luke glanced down at his artificial hand, then at Han's artificial hand. "Look, Han . . . I understand you being mad at me."

"Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you? All you did was walk out on me and Leia and Ben and the _entire galaxy!"_

Luke gazed again at Han's artificial hand, shifting his gaze to the tube in his neck. "I don't expect you to ever forgive me, especially not after what all happened to you." He sighed through his nose, still looking at the tube.

"What happened to the Luke who wouldn't give up on his dad?" Han found himself exclaiming, finally asking the question that had been preying on him for years. "Dad was worth it, but not nephew?"

"And what if I stayed and just made things _worse?"_ Luke blurted.

"Worse than _this?_ Like what, my son could kill me? Oh wait, he already did that!"

"He didn't succeed . . ."

"So he _would_ have succeeded if you hadn't taken off? Not buyin' it."

Luke kept his gaze on the tube as if he were refusing to look his brother-in-law in the eye – or maybe he couldn't _handle_ looking him in the eye. "You have no idea how many times I've wished things could just go back to the way they were. If I _knew_ where I went wrong with Ben . . . if I could fix it . . ."

"You can't," Han interrupted. "And you sure as hell didn't fix anything by takin' off."

The old Jedi sighed, once again reminding Han of the little things he could no longer do. "You're right . . ." he muttered. "I didn't fix anything – I probably just made things worse." He sighed a second time. "You know, I think Rey still wishes _you_ were her father instead of me."

Han glanced over at Luke's artificial hand, which was now inches away from his own. "Yeah, well given how _great_ a dad I turned out to be, she might wanna think twice about that."

"It's not like _I_ was any better."

With those words, Han folded his arms and shifted his focus back to the smashball game. For what seemed like several minutes, only the game and the _sound_ could be heard.

"I got prescribed brain meds," Han suddenly said without looking away from the holovid, though he wasn't sure if it was just to get conversation going or because he wanted Luke to further know the impact of what he had done.

"What kind?"

"Can't pronounce the name, but they're s'posed to help with the flashbacks and nightmares. Therapist told me to start takin' them before bed."

"Well . . . hopefully they'll help."

Even though Han couldn't breathe on his own, he felt like an exhale was stuck in his throat, longing to get out. He glanced at Luke, who was staring at the holovid now, as if he once again couldn't stand to look at Han. Maybe the years apart had built a barrier between them.

"Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you talk to your daughter?"

"Why?"

Han swallowed as his eyes closed, again chasing the dream but again remembering nothing new. "I don't really remember _why_ , but there was somethin' about her in a dream . . ."

. . .

Leia had been waiting for hours in the prison's tiny lobby, altering between watching the sky slowly darken out the window and the guards go in and out while ignoring her. She tried again and again to reach her son through the Force, but all she could pick up was pain.

 _Ben, please, don't block me out . . . let me help you . . ._

Finally a guard approached her, a stern expression on his face, looking at her as if she were a piece of trash someone had forgotten to throw away. "General Organa," he said in a gruff voice, "you may come see your son now."

Without another word, he led her down hall after hall of prison cells. Was it Leia's imagination, or was it colder here than it was in the lobby? Maybe she and Han should have sent their son blankets instead of a datapad.

Finally they reached Ben's cell, where the guard immediately ordered Leia to stay away from the forcefield. "Be careful," he also added, "he didn't take kindly to his last visitor."

" _Last_ visitor?" Leia exclaimed.

"Yeah," the guard responded.

"Who was it?"

"I'm not at liberty to disclose that, ma'am. Now be quick."

Leia's stomach was in a knot as she gazed into Ben's cell, tinted red from the forcefield. On the floor was scattered the pieces of the datapad his parents had sent, which sent bile up and then back down Leia's throat. What was meant as a loving gift was smashed to pieces by its recipient.

Could _nothing_ reach Ben?

Ben himself was curled up on the bunk, close to the fetal position, sound asleep, his face red as if he'd been crying. The pants of his gray prison uniform were scrunched almost up to his knees as his legs twitched in a vague manner. Leia wondered if perhaps the guards had purposely kept her waiting until he'd fallen asleep so they wouldn't have a repeat of whatever had happened with whoever his last visitor was.

A hand dangled over the side of the bunk - gray, rusted in some spots, wires and circuitry exposed, ready for the scrap pile just like Han had said.

"What did you do to my SON?" Leia exclaimed.


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Thanks as always for reviewing! Sorry it took so long with this chapter. I'd like to say updates will be faster, but I'm now in grad school, so don't expect fast updates for a while.

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 10

"Hey, wake up!"

The guard's gruff voice shot into Kylo's sleep. His first thought was to Force-choke the guard then and there, but he quickly decided against it when he remembered that doing so would bring hundreds more guards all with orders to kill him on sight.

"I said WAKE UP!"

Kylo groggily opened his eyes to find himself strapped to a hovering stretcher, a guard peering down at him. After another blink he realized that the light glaring down on him wasn't the dim light of his cell.

"What is it with _mothers?_ " The guard spat out the word as if he despised the concept. "Their children can be the most hideous creatures in the world and yet they'll still insist they're beautiful. In fact, even if a mother's child is a downright _monster,_ she'll still defend it. Does that mean mothers are full of the purest love for their children – or just that they're stupid?"

"Where am I?" Kylo's voice came out in a whisper.

The guard appeared to be smirking. "Isn't this how you kept your father when _he_ was imprisoned? All strapped down and helpless with two appendages missing? Well, they say what goes around comes around."

Kylo ground his teeth. "Where . . . am . . . I?" he repeated in a slow voice. "Tell me or I'll Force-choke you."

"If you do that, twenty blasters in the walls and ceilings all aimed directly at you will go off at the same time," the guard said, seeming to savor the idea. "Sure, you might be able to stop one or two of them, but twenty? I don't think so."

"Do you wish to bet your life on that?" Kylo growled.

"Do _you?"_ The guard's smirk was more pronounced now. "Now as I was saying, you're here because your _mother_ was, let's say, dissatisfied with our work."

"Leia Organa was here?" Had she demanded that he be kept strapped down like this?

"Yes," the guard hissed. "And she forced us to make some changes in those hands of yours."

Instantly Kylo looked down, expecting for a moment to find his artificial hands gone and his arms reduced to ending in stumps once more.

But no, he still had artificial hands.

And now, they actually looked like _hands._

. . .

"All right Finn, let's try this one. LN-7777."

"Hmm, that's a tough one – Lynn is a girl's name, after all. I guess with all the sevens you could call him Sev."

Luke returned home to find Rey and Finn relaxing on the couch, apparently engaged in some sort of game. "Hey," he said, "what's going on?"

Both Rey and Finn suddenly tensed up, as if Luke's very presence was intruding on their time together. For a moment it passed through Luke's mind that in another life he and Rianna might have come home to find their daughter and Finn making out on the couch with their clothes off and yelled at her about it.

If only that could have been . . .

"Nothing much, Mr. Skywalker, sir," said Finn. "We were just guessing what sorts of names you could make out of different stormtrooper numbers. You know, like how Poe gave me the name Finn."

"Sounds fun," said Luke as he sat at the end of the couch next to his daughter. "Anyway, Rey, we need to talk."

Rey stiffened. "What about?"

Luke took a deep breath, gazing into his daughter's brown eyes. "Did you go see your cousin in prison?"

Rey's face suddenly hardened.

"Rey?" Luke persisted. "Did you?"

Rey inhaled through her teeth. "So what if I _did?_ "

"Rey, you need to understand that Ben . . ."

"Why do you keep calling him _Ben?"_ she interrupted with a snarl. "Whoever _Ben_ was, he's GONE!"

"Sweetheart, that's not true . . ."

"Like _hell_ it's not true!" Now she was fuming at him. "I tried to talk to him about it and he _charged_ at me!" Her breath shortened. "It was like a wild animal . . . that's what he is, an _animal._ A vicious, unfeeling _animal –_ why can't any of you see that?"

Both Luke and Finn stared at her for several moments before Finn cleared his throat in an awkward manner. "So Rey . . . would you like some water or something?"

"I would like my _father_ to stop being so delusional," Rey growled. "My uncle had the same delusions and he almost died for it! Now he'll never breathe again _because of that delusion!_ What does it _take_ to convince all of you that it's _stupid_ to think there's any soul left in that thing?"

Luke sighed, drumming his artificial fingers on his knee. "Rey, your grandfather . . ."

"I don't want to hear about my _grandfather._ I don't care that he redeemed himself five minutes before he died – that doesn't mean my _cousin_ isn't a monster!"

With that, she leapt out of her seat and stormed out of the room.

. . .

"Han, you know you have to take it."

Han heard Doctor Graynar's voice, but he just stared at the little yellow pill sitting next to the glass of water on the tray, making no move to take it. Just a harmless-looking yellow circle . . . but what would it do to his mind? He had always been skeptical about anything that could manipulate the chemicals in the brain. Even in his smuggling days he would smuggle spice but not use it.

"Han, come on," Doctor Graynar persisted.

Was everything he felt just the result of some chemical reaction in his brain that could be manipulated with a little pill? At least right now the pain was _his_ pain, not the result of some drug.

And what if it made things worse . . .?

"Han, you _need_ to take it."

Finally he grabbed the pill with his artificial fingers and stuck it in his mouth, tasting a bit of metal in the process. He quickly washed it down with the water before he could decide to spit it out – spitting was difficult without any breath anyway.

"There, see?" the doctor said as she took the tray and the empty cup. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Maybe not," Han muttered in his raspy voice, "but it might be bad _later."_

 _. . ._

The room was dark, the lullaby was playing, and Leia was lying next to Han, but he couldn't get to sleep. He couldn't even get close to getting to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes the _sound_ seemed to grow louder, invading his mind even more than usual. He pressed down on what used to be his chest with his real hand, feeling the hardness through his hospital gown – the hardness that would be there for the rest of his life. He would be a _cyborg_ for the rest of his life.

Cyborg – why did that word enter his head? It didn't sound like a person – it sounded like a machine. A _complete_ machine, not just someone who had a few mechanical parts. It was a perfect word to describe someone like Vader, who was so mechanical that no trace of flesh showed anymore.

But now Han was a cyborg too . . .

He felt his wife's gentle hand on his shoulder, but lacked the energy to acknowledge it. "Han?" she whispered. "How are you feeling?"

He would have sighed if he was able. "I dunno. Kinda blank, I guess."

Leia stroked his shoulder in a rhythmic motion. "Han, I know you don't like the idea of taking the pills, but they're meant to help you."

"I know." His one living hand was cold. "Don't worry about me, okay? I'll be all right." The words were directed at Leia, but Han still felt like he was saying them to himself, not that they did any good in reassuring him.

It was going to be a long night.

. . .

Luke opened the door to his daughter's room and found her in her bed, facing away from him, but he sensed that she was still awake. "Rey?" he asked in a careful voice.

No answer.

The father took a few steps into the dark room, noticing Rey flinch at the sound. "Rey, I made the mistake of losing hope and the galaxy paid for it. _You_ paid for it. I know it's difficult, but we have to be patient with your cousin right now."

"Please go away," Rey muttered.

Luke swallowed. "All right . . . but Rey, please for everyone's sake don't visit him again."

Rey said nothing.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Thanks for reviewing as always!

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 11

A week passed, during which Han started losing interest in food and hardly slept. Omha told him that insomnia and loss of appetite were normal side effects when starting out with the pills, so she insisted that he keep taking them despite his complaints during his sessions. He also complained about feeling dizzy when he sat up and generally lethargic despite always having difficulty sleeping, but she said those were normal side effects too. At his most recent session he claimed that he was having fainting spells – surely _that_ couldn't be a normal side effect – but the therapist either saw through his lie or found out he was lying from Doctor Graynar. In any case, she didn't believe him and told him to be patient with the pills and the side effects would pass.

Well if he was going to suffer side effects, the least the pills could do was _help_ with something, but so far he hadn't noticed any changes for the better. He still flashed back to the bridge whenever he tried to walk and he still suffered nightmares during the rare times when he could actually get to sleep. Be patient, Omha said, but how long was he supposed to wait?

Right now he was staring at the ceiling, trying to listen to music from the datapad, but the _sound_ kept distracting him. In, out, in, out, in, out, it was like it was counting down the seconds until it finally drove Han to insanity. His stomach growled, but the thought of actually eating nauseated him.

"Han," came Doctor Graynar's voice suddenly from the window, "you have a visitor."

Han raised his eyebrow at the doctor. "Who? I thought Leia was off doin' Resistance stuff."

"It's not Leia, it's Rey."

Han's other eyebrow went up. Rey had only visited him when the whole group was there and he couldn't remember even having a conversation with her since Ben had stabbed him. It was as if she were afraid of him now – not that he could really blame her for that. After all, seeing him in this condition had driven her to cut Ben's hands off.

"All right, let her in," he muttered as he reached over to turn the music off.

Rey enter wearing a sullen look with hints of darkness under her eyes. Han concentrated on grinning at his niece and hoping he looked convincing. "Hey, Rey, haven't seen you much lately."

"Hello . . . uncle," Rey mumbled as she sat next to his bed, scanning him with her eyes. "You look awful."

"Well, I don't feel so good either."

Rey's eyes were racing, as if she were alternately staring and trying not to stare.

"Havin' trouble seein' me like this?" Han asked.

Rey blinked rapidly. "I'm . . . I'm sorry."

"Don't be," said Han. "I have trouble seein' _myself_ like this."

Rey swallowed. "Are . . . are the pills Luke told me about helping at all?"

"Nope," said Han. "Not unless you say the pills got rid of the nightmares by gettin' rid of _sleep."_ He raised an eyebrow at his niece. "Hey, why're you still callin' your dad Luke?"

"I don't feel like _Luke's_ my father," Rey said, looking directly into Han's eyes.

Now it was Han who swallowed. "Hey, wait, are you sayin' you want Ben to be your brother instead of your cousin?"

Rey abruptly looked away. "He's not _Ben._ Not anymore."

Han resisted the urge to argue that point, instead gently placing his real hand on her shoulder. "You know, when you were little he _adored_ you."

"I've seen old recordings," Rey said bitterly, still not looking at him. "Not that I actually _remember_ it."

"You were like a baby sister to him . . . he always wanted a baby sister."

"So why didn't _you_ have another baby?"

Han felt his insides twist suddenly as unpleasant memories suddenly swam into his mind. "We tried, but for several years nothing happened." His hand dropped from his niece's shoulder like a weight. "Then when Ben was nine, Leia finally got pregnant again."

"What?"

"Ben was so excited . . ." Han's raspy voice grew softer than usual. "He got even more excited when we got a sonogram and found out the baby was a girl. He picked out all these cute dresses for the baby to wear, sang her lullabies at Leia's belly, but then . . ." He trailed off.

"What?" Rey was finally looking at him again. "What happened?"

Han blinked several times, but his eyes moistened up anyway. "The baby was stillborn." He tried to stop the memory, but it came anyway – the blood-covered body lying stiff that would have been his daughter – would have been little Treyla Solo.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry," Rey stammered. "Why . . . why hasn't anyone told me?"

"None of us really like talkin' about it," said Han. "Givin' birth to a dead body was pretty rough on Leia – she was in the hospital for a few weeks after that, so we decided we'd better not try anymore." Again he wished he could sigh. "She couldn't even come to our daughter's funeral." He gulped down what felt like a rock that had materialized in his throat. "As you can imagine, Ben was pretty devastated . . . he didn't even want us to donate the dresses he'd picked out." He forced himself to give his niece a tiny smile. "But then about a year later you were born and he gave those dresses to you."

A tear streamed down his face that Rey wiped off. "Sorry . . . sorry," he mumbled. "Guess that wasn't fun for you to hear."

"Not really," Rey admitted.

"The meds're probably makin' me relive bad memories even more than usual." Han glanced down at his artificial hand. "And of course my stupid therapist won't let me stop takin' 'em."

Rey cocked her head at him. "Well, it probably just takes some time for them to work."

"Maybe, but is it really worth it?"

"Don't you want to get out of here?"

"And do _what?"_ Han suddenly snapped. "You think I can fight in the Resistance like _this?_ Fly the Falcon? Do _anything?_ I'll be as helpless out there as I am in here – Ben's lightsaber might as well have just succeeded in killin' me"

"How can you _say_ that?" Rey shouted.

"It's the truth," Han spat. "Day after day of hearin' this Vader noise I can't ever turn off, pain in my chest, eatin' food that always tastes bland since my nose doesn't work, I can't even fucking _breathe._ "

"But at least you're _alive!"_

"I already died," Han muttered. "It's just the details that didn't work out."

. . .

"Suicidal thoughts" had been a side effect listed for the drug – something Han was supposed to immediately alert the doctors about if it happened, but what if he didn't want to get rid of the thoughts? It would be so easy – all he'd need is to grab the pill container for a few seconds and take an overdose. A simple, painless death – hell, the drugs would probably put him to sleep before they actually killed him.

Dying in his sleep instead of by lightsaber . . .

There would be no more breathing device, no more flashbacks, no more nightmares, no more _sound._

It sounded glorious . . .

Maybe it would even help Ben out. If he were dead, Ben wouldn't need to worry about their shared dreams anymore. He could finally move on from his attempted murder of his father.

Leia would be devastated, but she was strong. She'd also understand that he hadn't wanted to suffer like this anymore.

She was already asleep next to him – apparently she'd had a long day. Should he wake her up to say goodbye? No . . . no . . . if he did that she'd try to stop him – she'd probably take the pills away or something like that.

There was Doctor Graynar with the pill container in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Han stared at the pills as if he were starving and they were a delicious meal. Just a few seconds with the container, that was all he needed.

"All right, Han," she said, handing him the glass of water as usual, which he quickly put on the table beside his bed. Just a few seconds. She started to open the container to shake out one pill as usual, but he reached for it – gently, so as not to let her suspect anything. Once his fingers clasped around that container, he smiled at her as he – still gently – pried it from her hand, feigning that he was fine with the pills now.

Well from a certain point of view, that was true.

He covered the opening with his artificial hand so she wouldn't see how many he was shaking out, stuffed them into his mouth, and washed them down with the water before she could notice anything.

"All right, buzz me if you need me as usual," she said as he handed the container and the glass back to her. "Good night."

"Night," said Han as he lay down, "and thanks."

The lullaby in the dark finally felt soothing again. Han felt his eyes drooping as he cradled Leia's head in his real hand. A gentle lull into death . . . it should happen soon. He kissed his wife's forehead, hoping she would understand.

"Goodbye, Leia," he whispered, "I love you."


	12. Chapter 12

AN: Thanks for reviewing! I hope I didn't give anyone a heart attack with that last chapter.

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 12

Leia squeezed Han's icy hand as if that would magically wake him up, but he remained as still as ever. Four days since his overdose. Four days of the breathing device and feeding tubes keeping his body alive, but whether or not he would ever regain consciousness remained to be seen. Doctor Graynar had nearly gotten fired for not being more careful when supervising Han's meds, but Leia spoke up on her behalf . . . for some reason, even though Han wouldn't have been able to kill himself if the doctor had _just supervised him better._

Maybe Leia spoke up for the doctor because she blamed _herself_ more than Doctor Graynar. If only she had been awake – maybe he wouldn't have done it then. Even if he tried, she could have physically stopped him if she had just been awake.

But then again, if he were really that determined to kill himself, he would have found a time to do it when she wasn't around. If it hadn't been that moment, it would have been another.

 _He_ was the one responsible.

Her breath suddenly came out in heaves between her teeth. "You _idiot!"_ she suddenly snarled. "You get a second chance at life and you throw it away just like that? How _could_ you?"

The answer wheezed into her ear, in, out, in, out, still in its monotonous cycle even when Han was hovering between life and death. The hole in Han's neck would never heal thanks to the tube always feeding him air – at least that's what she _thought_ the tube did. What was it like to have a hole in your neck? Could Han feel the tube inside his throat?

Why hadn't she ever asked him?

She squeezed his flesh hand again – it was nearly as cold as his mechanical hand. How long could the breathing device and feeding tubes keep him alive by themselves if he didn't wake up? Would he sleep on and on for years until she couldn't afford to pay his hospital bills anymore and had to tell the doctors to turn the machine off while trying to convince herself that he was brain-dead anyway and there was nothing more to revive?

"Han, you _idiot,_ " she whispered again.

His hand twitched, briefly making her hold her breath in hopes that he was waking up, but no, aside from the twitch he remained the same.

He wanted to die . . . did that mean she should ask the doctors to turn the machine off now and respect his wishes?

No . . . no . . . he didn't _actually_ want to die . . . it was the pills . . . those stupid pills made him do it . . .

Right?

. . .

Had Han been on the bridge forever? He sometimes remembered another life he had tried to end, but it was like remembering a dream – little flicks of random moments. Sometimes it was Leia's veil falling off during their wedding reception; other times it was teaching Luke how to hotwire a speeder. Taking Ben to a holofilm or Leia's tangled morning hair. Holding Ben after a nightmare or bandaging his cut.

Sometimes he slept – or something like sleep, at least there were times when he seemed to lose awareness of the bridge for a while – but he never left the bridge's edge. He just sat there for hours, days, years, however long it was.

And there was always the _sound . . ._

Hadn't he taken the overdose to get _rid_ of that damn _sound?_

Maybe he had to jump in order to truly die.

He inched himself to the side until his bare feet were dangling over the seemingly-bottomless chasm – one foot of flesh and one of metal. That damn metal foot, preventing him from walking. Well it didn't matter now.

Nothing mattered now.

"Han Solo."

That voice. That cold, cruel voice he still loved in spite of it all. He looked up and there was Ben towering over him, standing on the bridge near the edge, his face trembling as he glared down at his father.

"You don't have to worry about me anymore, Ben," Han said. "I'll soon be gone for good like you wanted the first time."

"What are you talking about?" Ben asked in a low voice.

"Pills, son. I took an overdose. Soon I'll be dead and you can move on from . . . whatever this grudge you have against me is."

" _Pills?"_ Ben spat.

"Yeah," said Han, wishing he could reach his son's face. "Least I can be with you while I die like I was last time . . ."

"You seriously think the doctors will let you die of _pills?"_ Ben's face stretched almost as if he were thinking of laughing. "No, they'll be horrified that one of their patients tried to commit suicide with one of their own prescriptions and they'll do whatever they can to save you." He tapped his foot making the bridge vibrate under Han's body. "You're probably hooked up to a bunch of machines right now."

A shiver ran through Han's body as he looked back to his feet dangling over the nothingness. Even the _sound_ seemed to increase its pace a bit. "Then I'll jump."

"And you think that will help?" There was a growl in Ben's voice. "How many times have I jumped and how many times have I ended up right back here?"

Han slowly kicked his feet one at a time, feeling a chill in one and nothing in the other. "You know, there's something I still don't get about these shared dreams." When his son gave no reply, he took that as incentive to continue. "How come I always got the thing in my chest whenever we come here?"

"I don't follow."

Han looked back up at his son, which pulled on the neck tube. "This is a dream, ain't it? Real world rules shouldn't apply here, so how come I can't breathe?"

"How should _I_ know?" Ben shouted.

"Well, you're more experienced in the Force than I am . . ."

"And you think that gives me all the answers? Do you think I would keep coming here if I had a _choice?"_

"Maybe you just need to lightsaber me again. Then maybe I'll finally be dead for real and you'll finally be free of the pain. We both get what we want."

Ben's eyes actually widened, as if that idea had never occurred to him before. " _Is_ that really what you want?"

"I took the overdose, didn't I?"

"Plenty of people make feeble suicide attempts without actually wanting to die. It can simply be a way to get attention."

Han briefly wondered if his son was speaking from experience, but he figured it would be best to not actually ask. "Well I want to." He stared at the lightsaber on Ben's belt, the pain in his chest suddenly intensifying as the moment when the blade pierced his body flashed through his head. "Go on," he said, struggling not to flinch. "Just one little slice and it'll be over for both of us."

Ben was still for an extended moment. "You . . . you don't know it will work."

"Still worth a try, isn't it? You want me dead, I want to die, and if it doesn't work we're no worse off."

Slowly, slowly, slowly, Ben's hand inched towards the lightsaber, and Han would have held his breath if he'd been able to breathe. With every blink he saw that red blade streak across his eyelids and concentrated on not trembling. One little slice. A quick death and this time there would be no Snoke to order him changed into a barely-alive half-machine. One little slice.

But Ben's hand froze in mid-reach. It hung there for a few seconds as if in suspended animation before it began shaking.

"Ben?" Han asked. "Are you okay?"

Ben gasped several times, sounding like he was having dry heaves, and his hand kept shaking, shaking, shaking, his eyes glazed over and looking at nothing as if he were having a seizure.

"Ben?" Han pressed. "Talk to me, son, talk to me!"

Ben's eyes met Han's for the briefest of seconds before his body slumped over and once again fell into the abyss.

Han was alone again.


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Thanks as always for the reviews!

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 13

Kylo awoke to the dim light in the prison hallway tinted red from the forcefield, his face drenched in sweat, the blanket tangled around his legs. How did Han Solo keep tormenting him from a hospital bed? Han Solo who only had the tiniest hint of the Force within him – how could that worthless weakling penetrate someone as strong in the Force as Kylo was?

He blinked slowly as he sat up in bed, gazing out at his eerily red-tinted cell. The regular light in his cell was turned off, meaning it had to still be the middle of the night. Not that he would be going back to sleep . . . perhaps he'd never sleep again. He decided right then that he hated sleep, hated letting the demons in his subconscious overtake his mind. Maybe sleep was a cruel joke played by whatever higher beings might be out there, forcing people to lose control of their minds every night.

He got out of bed and headed for the corner of his cell where there was a small showerhead over a drain, right next to the toilet and sink. All were out in the open, in complete view of the guards and however many hidden security cameras were recording him. He was a rare prisoner who had a showerhead in his cell because he was considered too dangerous for communal showering.

Perhaps he should be flattered by that. It meant they were afraid of him, after all.

After stripping, he turned on the shower, letting the lukewarm water flow over his body, not caring about the security cameras recording his nudity. He held his new artificial hands up in front of him, noticing how the water slid down them much faster than it would slide down flesh hands.

Damn Han Solo. _Damn_ Han Solo.

Why didn't he just die on the bridge like he was supposed to all those weeks ago? What did Snoke accomplish by fixing him anyway? Kylo closed his eyes, letting the shower soak his hair, trying not to see Han Solo's distraught face behind his eyelids.

Everything would be much easier if Han Solo just hated him like he should. If Han Solo glared at him with the same fierce hatred with which he had glared at Snoke, their roles as enemies would be clear.

And Kylo would succeed in breaking his father.

 _Father,_ what a useless word. What did it mean? Sperm, that was all. What did it matter if Han Solo's sperm had helped to create him? Kylo didn't owe anything to sperm.

Still the memories pricked at the edges of his mind – the hundreds of times Han Solo had held him, played with him, comforted him after nightmares – but he ground his teeth and shook his head like an animal, whipping the water around him. He wasn't that weakling Ben Solo anymore.

He wasn't . . .

The water was growing chilly, causing him to shiver, but he kept the shower running. "Grandfather," he whispered, getting water in his mouth, "forgive me, I have been weak."

No answer came as he turned off the shower, hastily dried himself, and threw the towel and his clothes into the laundry chute. It didn't matter to him if he wouldn't receive a clean prison uniform for at least a day – he simply stomped naked back to the bed and wrapped himself in the blanket.

How long could he go without sleep? At times he had tried to avoid the shared dreams by sleeping during the day, but they still came when Han Solo took his naps. Now that Han Solo was in a self-induced coma, it wasn't safe for Kylo to sleep at all.

Perhaps he _did_ need to kill his father in a shared dream in order for him to finally die.

But why hadn't he been able to?

. . .

"Ben, come back . . ."

Leia jolted awake, having fallen asleep by her husband's side. For a moment she thought Han had finally awakened, but her eyes opened to find him lying as still and lifeless as ever, apparently dead without dying, the breathing device in its endless cycle of in, out, in, out.

But she had heard his voice, hadn't she? Or was that a dream? "Han?" she whispered. "Did you say something?"

She held her breath, anticipating . . . what exactly? Did she expect him to awaken now? No, she had only dreamed that she heard him say something, didn't she? This was ridiculous. But then again . . . it had also been ridiculous to think he might have been alive back when everyone was convinced that he was dead.

"Han?" she repeated in a louder voice. "Han, can you hear me?"

His mouth hardly moved – it was more of a twitch than an actual movement – and she wouldn't have heard him if she weren't actively listening for it, but the tiniest raspy whisper came out.

"Ben . . ."

She sucked in her breath. _That_ wasn't a dream. Her body tightened up in anticipation, prepared to sit there for hours if she had to despite the cricks in her neck from sleeping there. "Han, you're in there, I knew you were. You're not dead yet."

"Ben . . . please . . . come back."

His eyes didn't open and his body didn't move, but Leia still felt as if a weight had been lifted from her body. She leaped up as Doctor Graynar entered the room, practically running up to the young doctor.

"He's talking!" she shouted. "He's talking!"

"Wait, what?" the doctor asked, her eyes widening.

"What do you _think_ I mean?" Leia exclaimed. "I mean he's _talking!"_

Doctor Graynar's gaze shifted from Leia to Han's motionless body and back again as if she suspected that Leia was crazy. "Leia," she said slowly after taking a deep breath, "could you maybe explain what's going on?"

Leia gave a loud groan, wondering again why she had spoken up for Graynar. "He _talked,_ that's what happened. I heard him – he called out to our son just now."

Doctor Graynar raised an eyebrow as she glanced again at Han, as if unsure whether or not to believe her. "Are you sure?"

" _Yes_ I'm sure!" Leia's voice was a shout now as she shook her finger down at her husband. "He's still in there, he can still wake up!"

The doctor raised her palms in an attempt to calm the general down. "Okay . . . okay, well why don't you go take a shower and I'll let you know if he talks again."

Leia was tempted to say she wasn't leaving her husband and tell the doctor where to shove it, but then she decided she probably smelled pretty bad and even though Han couldn't smell anymore, he'd probably still appreciate it if she was clean when he woke up. "All right, I'll be out in a few minutes. Make _sure_ you tell me if he talks again."

Doctor Graynar gave one of her doctor smiles. "I will, I promise."

Leia felt like she was floating as she made her way to the refresher. Han's brain was alive.

The fight wasn't over yet.


	14. Chapter 14

AN: Thanks for reviewing! And May the Fourth be with you!

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 14

Rey's hands were shaking.

She and her father were supposed to be in their daily meditation together – at least she assumed Luke was meditating, he was sitting across from her on the floor with his eyes closed, but maybe he was actually restless like her and was just good at hiding it. Maybe he was trying to reach Han's subconscious like Leia had once. _Could_ Han be reached in his current state?

Rey clasped her hands together to stop their shaking, but that only caused the tremble to go up to her arms. How could Luke just sit there when his supposed best friend had tried to kill himself?

She sucked in her breath, filling her stomach like her father had taught her, but instead of calming her down it only made her stomach hurt. How the _hell_ could Luke just sit still like that? Was that what he was doing all those years cut away from the galaxy – sitting like a useless statue?

"I don't want to meditate," she muttered.

Luke's eyes opened as if he'd been waiting for her to say those exact words. "What?"

"I said I don't want to meditate right now," Rey said in a louder voice. "In fact, I'm not sure if I want to meditate ever again."

"Rey . . ."

"I'm _serious_." Rey found herself glaring at her father. "Every time I meditate I see _him_ again – me cutting off his hands or him charging at me or him interrogating me." Her breath was shortening just at the thought and her hands were shaking again.

Luke's wrinkled brow furrowed. "That's all the more reason why you _should_ meditate. Rey, you almost turned to the dark side . . ."

"Light side, dark side," snapped Rey. " _Neither_ side is helping."

Luke gave a long, deep inhale as if he were still meditating. "Rey, what's bothering you?"

Rey's shaking hands started clenching up. "What's bothering me? Han tried to _kill himself_ and you're asking what's bothering me?"

"I sense there's something else too," said Luke, reaching over and putting one flesh hand and one mechanical hand on his daughter's shoulders. "Come on, what is it?"

Rey stared into her father's eyes – her _father's_ eyes, yet he still didn't feel like a father to her even now. What was wrong with her? Why did it still feel like her father was the one currently lying comatose in the hospital?

" _Then about a year later you were born and he gave the dresses to you . . ."_

A sudden chill ran down Rey's body, tensing up her muscles. No, no, the idea that just shot into her head was impossible . . . right?

"The afternoon before he tried to kill himself, Han told me about the dead baby," she blurted out.

Luke's hands abruptly slid off her shoulders. "Your . . . your stillborn cousin?"

"Yes," said Rey. "He also told me they were going to name the baby Treyla. T _rey_ la." She blinked at her father. "Is that my full name? Was I named after the dead baby?"

Luke gave a long, raspy sigh, the sigh of an old man tired of how things were going. "Yes," he finally said, "but we never actually _called_ you Treyla. You've always been Rey." He cocked his head a bit. "Actually, it was Han's idea for us to name you that. Maybe he thought it would be like his daughter was alive then."

Rey's throat went dry, though she swallowed repeatedly in a vain attempt to moisten it. "Luke . . . can I say something crazy?"

"Of course."

"Do you think . . . I might have that baby's soul? I mean, my mother got pregnant shortly after she died, right?"

To Rey's surprise, Luke's only reaction was a slight raising of his eyebrow and taking Rey's trembling hands into his own. "Maybe, who knows?"

"I'm serious," said Rey. "Even though I only knew Han for a few days before Kylo stabbed him, I felt this _connection_ with him. Is it just because I subconsciously knew he was my uncle? Maybe, but . . . he felt like a father." _Still does,_ she thought, but she wouldn't actually say that part. "Could it be because he _was_ my father before you were? Could I be the original Treyla reincarnated?"

"I don't know," said Luke, "and I _can't_ know. No one can." His thumbs gently massaged his daughter's wrists. "But listen Rey, I know that you think of Han as more of a father than me and I don't blame you. You don't need to blame reincarnation or anything."

Rey gulped again, her throat still dry. "Luke . . . could we maybe do something together?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, something fathers and daughters do together, like maybe see a holofilm or something." Her shaking hands were finally starting to calm down as her father squeezed them. "You know, I've never actually been to a holofilm cinema – that I remember."

There was a tiny smile forming in Luke's lips. "You used to love the holocinema. All right, let's go."

. . .

Father and daughter sat side-by-side in the dark watching a musical holofilm about how a romance between two people from enemy planets brought peace between the planets, but Luke only paid minimal attention to the holofilm, instead focusing on his daughter. Her hands weren't shaking anymore as she ate her snacks and seemed mesmerized by the holofilm. In fact, she actually seemed _relaxed_ for once.

Though the cinema had a rule that comlinks were supposed to be turned off during the film, Luke secretly had his turned on so Leia could call him if there was any change in Han's condition. She said he had talked – that meant he could wake up, right?

Suddenly Rey laughed.

Luke had been so lost in his thoughts that he'd missed whatever joke his daughter was laughing at, but once he heard her laugh it was as if something had been lifted from him. In his mind he heard his little girl laughing and though her voice had changed, the rhythm of her laugh was still the same.

He leaned back in his seat, a slight smile on his face. In this darkened sanctuary, they could simply be father and daughter for a couple of hours before they'd have to return to the harshness of the real world.

. . .

Kylo hadn't slept since that last shared dream with Han Solo. How long was it . . . two days, three days? . . . he couldn't concentrate hard enough to remember, but he didn't dare sleep now. Sleep meant dreams and dreams meant the bridge. There was no safe window to sleep when Han Solo was awake now.

He kept pacing in a circle around his cell as he had been doing for . . . however long it had been. A while, at least, but he couldn't risk sitting down. Even while walking his eyelids felt like weights had had to concentrate every second on holding up or else they would fall, pulling him down with them.

Maybe Han Solo had woken up or died? No . . . he would have sensed it if Han Solo had died, he would have felt the burden on his soul disappear at last.

His head hurt. His eyes burned from the light. His whole body was demanding sleep . . . no . . . no . . . he had to stay awake . . . had to stay away from Han Solo . . . had to . . .

His eyes momentarily closed, causing him to stumble forward. No . . . no . . . don't fall asleep . . . don't fall asleep . . . He rapidly shook his head to keep himself awake, but that only made him dizzier and made him curse his pathetic body's need for sleep even more.

With every step his legs wobbled under him more. No . . . stay awake . . . stay awake . . . He eyed the sink on the other end of his cell – water! Water splashed on the face would keep him awake . . . right?

He tried to run towards the sink, but his exhausted legs finally gave way under him.

He was asleep before his body hit the floor.


	15. Chapter 15

AN: Thanks for reviewing!

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 15

Han didn't know how long Ben had been sitting on the bridge beside him, but he wasn't sure if he should acknowledge his son's presence. They sat side by side without touching, three flesh feet and one mechanical foot dangling over the endless void beneath them, the _sound_ of the breathing device echoing around the chamber. Ben wouldn't look him in the eye, but Han didn't need to see his son's full face to see that he looked like a wreck. Darkness surrounded his puffed eyes and his hair was sticking up in all directions.

"When was the last time you slept?" Han finally asked.

"The last time I was here," Ben said in a low, growly voice.

Han couldn't say it was easy to measure time here, but he figured it had to have been at least a few days since the last time he saw his son. "You kept yourself awake cause you were afraid of comin' back here, didn't you?"

Ben didn't answer. He merely stared down into the abyss, as if contemplating jumping again.

"Okay," said Han. "You don't wanna talk, you don't wanna talk. Just tryin' to help, that's all."

"Why don't you hate me?" Ben's voice was so low that Han hardly heard it.

"What?"

"Why don't you hate me?" Ben's voice was louder the second time, but there was still a growl in it. "After all I've done to you, you _should_ hate me. Why don't you?"

"Cause you're my son," Han said automatically.

"Because . . . I'm . . . you're . . . son . . ." Ben spat out the words as if they were poisonous. "Blood. Sperm. DNA. It means nothing."

"It means _everything,"_ Han argued.

Ben finally shot his head around to glare at his father. "So it's only _sperm_ that makes you this stupid?"

"It's called _love_ , son."

"Which only came from _sperm."_ Ben's face was trembling. "If it weren't for the accident of my sharing your DNA, you _would_ hate me." He held up one of his artificial hands, waving it in front of his face as if he were having difficulty seeing it. "Just like how your wife only bothered with these because I share _her_ DNA."

"That's not true!" Han snapped.

Ben returned to facing the abyss, as though satisfied to have angered his father. "Everyone shares _someone's_ DNA, but you let that fact make you stupid."

Han felt certain that if he had breath, he would be snarling. "If it makes me stupid, so be it, but I can tell you right now that it ain't just DNA." He wished his son would look him in the eyes again and let him see those eyes he loved. "The first moment I held you, that memory I shared with you . . ."

" _Don't_ – mention – that," Ben snarled, his voice like an animal.

"The first time I looked into your eyes," Han rapidly continued, "I knew I loved you."

"Babies are _easy_ to love," Ben spat.

"True," said Han, "but it wasn't just that. Over and over you amazed me, whether it was the first time you lost a tooth or the first time you held a lightsaber in your uncle's class."

Ben's breath was coming in and out in little pants, as if the mention of the word _lightsaber_ was painful. Then again, maybe it was. Maybe he was actually haunted by what he had done to his father.

Han pressed his hands against the bridge, gazing down at his feet dangling over the edge, his artificial foot gleaming in the eerie light. "I hoped I'd be dead by now," he muttered before slowly looking back up at his son. "Then you'd finally be able to move on."

"Again with _that?"_ Ben muttered back. "This self-sacrificial act is getting irritating. You could at least be honest and admit that you tried to kill yourself because you can't stand living with that thing in your chest."

"Okay, _yes,_ " said Han, "that _was_ the main reason, happy now? My heart's gone, my hand's gone, my foot's gone, my lungs and nose are useless, and I gotta listen to this damn machine breathe for me _all the time!_ "

"Because of me," Ben said in a small voice. "I destroyed your family and destroyed your body and DNA is a stupid reason to not hate me." His head shot upwards, staring at his father with bloodshot eyes. "And I don't need to read your mind to know you _do_ hate me deep down. _Anyone_ would."

"You're talkin' like you _want_ me to hate you." Han wanted to touch his son's cheek like he had in that last moment before falling, but he wondered if that would do more harm than good.

"Yes," Ben growled instantly.

" _Do_ you? Or do you hate _yourself?_ "

"The boy you love is _dead,"_ Ben said through his teeth, his body trembling. "It's not _me_ you love – it's a ghost."

Now Han risked it – he reached over and pressed his real hand on his son's cheek, which was damp from sweat or maybe tears or maybe both. "You've done terrible things, I won't lie about that. You've broken my heart both figuratively and literally, but I could _never_ hate you."

There was a sniffle coming from Ben – barely audible, but Han still caught it. "You love Ben, not _me_ ," he repeated, his voice in a whisper. He blinked slowly, gazing at his father through the lens of unshed tears. "You _can't_ love _me."_

It was as if Han had swallowed a rock. The sudden understanding whipped through him like a cold breeze. Ben truly believed that the son Han loved was only the son of the past and that his _present_ self, the one who had committed all the terrible acts . . .

Ben believed his present self _couldn't_ be loved.

Once the initial wave of shock passed, Han wrapped both arms around Ben and strangely enough, Ben didn't resist – his head merely dropped onto Han's shoulder like a dead weight. When was the last time he'd been hugged? Probably before he'd turned to the dark side in the first place.

For several moments Ben was slumped in his father's embrace like a corpse, his only sign of life being the trembling of his body and breath. What kind of hell was that, to believe with your entire being that it was impossible for anyone to love you, that even your parents only claimed to love you because of someone you no longer were? "You can cry, Ben," Han whispered. "It's okay, I'm here."

As if Ben had needed permission, once Han spoke those words the young man's body started convulsing with sobs and Han saw not the little boy Ben once was but a grown man. A grown man who had committed unspeakable acts and didn't know how to live with them. A grown man who had kept years of anger and pain inside him. A grown man who not long ago had thought the only way to get rid of the pain was to murder his father. A grown man who would wake up in a cold prison cell where he may remain for years.

" _I want to be free of this pain . . ."_

"There, that's it," Han murmured, running his hands up and down his son's back. "Let it out, all of it." He leaned back, carefully rotating their bodies so they could put their feet back on the bridge, after which Ben's body sprawled out, still sobbing on his father's shoulder as if that were the only thing that would keep him from dissolving into nothingness.

"I'm so tired . . ." Ben whispered through his sobs after what seemed like hours, ". . . so . . . tired . . ."

Suddenly the weight of his body pushed them both back until they were lying down, son on top of father. Han momentarily wondered if this would break the device in his chest, but then he figured that since this was a dream that shouldn't matter.

Ben's head turned to the side without leaving his father's shoulder, letting Han see his tear-stricken, sleep-deprived face. As a child he'd suffered chronic nightmares – maybe they never went away. "It's all right, Ben," Han whispered, running his hand through his son's hair. "You can sleep."

"We _are_ asleep . . ." Ben mumbled.

"Well yeah, but . . . maybe your mind needs to rest too," Han said awkwardly. "I dunno all the rules here, but I think you can try to relax."

Ben was blinking slowly, his breath still shaking slightly. "I never stopped having the nightmares," he whispered, as if he had sensed the question in Han's mind. "I just reached a point where I felt too old to come to your bed . . ."

It struck Han that Ben was actually referring to past events as things _he himself_ experienced instead of insisting that the Ben of the past was a different person. "Well . . . I don't think you'll have the nightmares here."

"And how do you know that?"

"I don't," said Han. "It just . . . _feels_ like you won't."

Neither father nor son spoke for several minutes as Ben's blinks became slower and slower and Han kept his arms wrapped around him while soothingly stroking his hair.

"You didn't have to step on the bridge," Ben suddenly said, sounding almost asleep.

"I know," said Han. "I wanted to. Still do."

In another few minutes, Ben's eyes were closed and his breathing was relaxed, his head still resting on his father's shoulder. "Ben?" Han whispered, but received no answer beyond his son's steady, deep breathing, the breathing of complete exhaustion.

How many nights like this had there been during his childhood, when Han would desperately hope the presence of himself and Leia would banish the nightmares from their son's mind and let him sleep peacefully for once?

And how many nights had they woken up later to his screams once again?

And how many other nights had he woken up screaming alone?

At least now he wasn't screaming. The tremor in his body had ceased too. Han slowly ran his real hand over his son's cheek, wiping away the last of his tears. "Sleep well, son." He planted a gentle kiss on Ben's forehead. "I'm here."

Shortly afterwards, Han was asleep as well.

. . .

Han didn't know how long his mind had been sleeping, but he felt strangely refreshed when consciousness started to return to him. The bridge felt . . . softer now, almost like a bed . . .

Wait, where was Ben?

Calm down, he told himself, Ben probably woke up back in the real world, hopefully feeling better. The _sound_ pounded into his ears as usual, but with the memories of last night – or however long it had been – helped tone the noise down in his mind.

His eyelids slowly blinked open – only for a blinding light to shoot into them and immediately make them shut again. Since when was the bridge so damn _bright?_

Or was he finally dead?

Suddenly he gulped, desperately hoping he wasn't dead.

Ben still needed him.

He centered his concentration on his ears, listening for anything beyond the _sound._ Well, something was beeping far away. There were voices coming from somewhere, but he couldn't make out anything being said, and Leia was snoring somewhere close to him . . .

 _Leia?_

His eyes shot open despite the accompanying headache and his head whipped to the side, where Leia was slumped over inches away from him, sound asleep, her hair mussed up and her mouth wide open, emitting snores that sounded like music to Han. With the sight of his wife came the realization that he wasn't on the bridge and he wasn't dead – he was in his hospital room.

He was _awake._

"Leia?" he whispered, after which Leia instantly awoke and stared at him in disbelief as if she thought she were still dreaming.

"Han?"

Han felt a grin forming. "Hey sweetheart, what'd I miss?"

Immediately Leia practically jumped on him and started showering his face with kisses. "You . . . moron," she said between kisses, "how . . . could . . . you . . . do . . . that . . .?" Still a kiss after every word. "I . . . should . . . slap . . . you . . . for . . . being . . . so . . . stupid . . ."

"Yeah, you probably should," said Han, "but I talked to Ben."

Finally Leia stopped the kissing. "You did?' she exclaimed in a hushed voice.

"Yeah," said Han, "we've been sharin' dreams."

Leia's eyes bulged as she squeezed Han's real hand. "Is he . . . all right?"

Han thought back to his son sleeping on his shoulder, the nightmares seemingly banished from his mind for once.

"Yeah," he finally answered, "I think he is. Or at least he will be."


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed both these stories. It's been a journey of both enjoyment and emotion. No plans for a third installment at this point – if I do anything else with this universe, it will probably be in short story form.

Also, since I posted two chapters in one day, make sure you READ CHAPTER 15 BEFORE THIS ONE or else there will be a big piece of the story missing.

"Change"

By EsmeAmelia

Epilogue

 _Three weeks later._

"Great job, Han, great job," Doctor Graynar cheered as Han walked in circles around the hospital room, leaning heavily on the cane he'd been using, but still walking without flashbacks or collapsing. As soon as he'd come out of the coma Omha had taken him off the old pills and put him on a new medication that seemed to be working better – the only side effects he'd suffered from this one had been a few headaches – but Doctor Graynar still wouldn't let him handle more than one pill at a time and probably Leia would continue that once he got out of the hospital. Of course, he couldn't say he blamed them.

He hadn't had any shared dreams with Ben since the coma, though – at least not any that he remembered. Many times he wondered if that meant Ben wasn't sleeping or that he was finally able to sleep peacefully – he hoped it was the latter.

[Han?] came a familiar Wookiee voice.

Han looked up and there was Chewie standing in the doorway, looking amazed to see his cub actually walking. "Hey Chewie!" Han called, wobbling slightly on the cane. "Look who's up and about."

Chewie rushed in and threw his arms around Han, howling in delight.

"Careful, careful, pal," said Han. "Don't crush the breathing machine."

[I know, cub,] said Chewie, pulling out of the embrace and ruffling Han's hair.

"So where's everyone else?"

[Well, Leia's meeting with the Resistance – they've got a pretty good lead on where Snoke might be, maybe the war will actually be over soon. Luke's taking Rey and Finn to a smashball game, Lando's working his job on the chancellor's guard, and the droids are doing . . . whatever droids do when they're alone. They should all be here tomorrow when you're released, though.]

Han swallowed a little. He had been in the hospital for weeks and before that he spent weeks as the First Order's prisoner. _Regular life_ in his condition was still something he had yet to experience. How would he adapt to that? _Would_ he be able to fly the Falcon again? Thinking about it now, he didn't see why he should let a breathing device in his chest and a few artificial body parts stop him from flying. If Vader could do it, so could he. Maybe if the war really did end soon, he and Leia could fly to Naboo for a well-needed vacation.

Of course, there was one place they'd have to visit before they went anywhere else.

. . .

The _sound_ somehow wasn't as loud in the open space of the hospital lobby, possibly due to echoes in the more enclosed areas of his hospital room and prison cell. Doctor Graynar had offered to take him to the lobby in a hoverchair, but he'd refused, saying that as long as he could walk, he was going to keep walking, even if for now he still needed a cane.

So side by side he and the doctor made their way into the brightly-lit hallway, where several seats were filled with familiar figures. Rey was fidgeting in her seat as Finn rubbed her back, Chewie was reading a datapad, Lando was paging through a holozine that showed a Twi'lek woman wearing almost nothing on the cover (some things never changed), 3PO was chattering to R2 and BB-8 about Force-knew-what, Poe was leaning back in his seat with his eyes half-closed, and Luke and Leia both looked as if they had been staring at the doorway for hours waiting for Han to come out. However, Han only got a glimpse of what everyone was doing, since within a couple of seconds they all shot out of their seats and gathered around Han.

"Lookin' good, you old pirate!" Lando exclaimed, slapping his friend's shoulder in the manner that he used to when they were young. "The cane suits you."

"Hope you'll consider coming back to the Resistance," said Poe. "You're one hell of a pilot."

"Maybe," said Han, "but I'm hopin' you won't need me by the time I'm off the cane – I'm damn tired of war."

He had barely gotten those words out when Rey gently wrapped her arms around his neck. "My father's planned a dinner out to celebrate," she said.

"Great," said Han, "but Leia and I have somewhere to go first."

Rey pulled out of the embrace, giving a bit of an awkward smile. "I know. And . . . when you get there, could you maybe tell him something?"

"Tell him what?"

Rey inhaled as if she were about to jump into freezing water. "Tell him . . . I'm sorry."

. . .

Han's stomach refused to settle as the guard led him and Leia down the long, dim hallways of the prison. His artificial hand clutched the cane and his real hand clutched Leia's hand and both hands were squeezing as if losing grip would mean death. The _sound_ echoed around the hall, mixed with their footsteps and the scraping of the cane.

There was a chill in the air – next time they came they should definitely bring him some blankets. Maybe food too, though Han wasn't sure if that was allowed.

He glanced over at his wife, seeing that there was a slight tremble in her face. How long was this hallway anyway? Or did it just seem long because of who was at the end of it?

Finally the guard stopped in front of a cell shielded by a red forcefield that emitted a low hum. In one corner was a cramped-looking bed with a single pillow and blanket; in another corner was a toilet, sink, and showerhead; in the back wall was a chute drawer through which Han guessed Ben received his food and other necessities.

And in the middle of the cell stood Ben.

He wore a gray, wrinkled prison uniform, his hair was ratted as if it hadn't been combed for weeks, and his artificial hands were trembling slightly as he slowly made his way to the forcefield, eyes wide and blinking rhythmically.

Leia held her breath. Han would have done the same if he'd been able. For a long moment, the parents and their wayward child simply stared at each other through the forcefield.

Then finally, Ben spoke.

"Mom . . . Dad."

THE END


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